The Dark Days Saga
by xayne
Summary: [AU]Dark Days have come upon us all, Muggle and Wizard alike. Calamities will abound as the shadow of HeWhoMustNotBeNamed passes over the land. This darkness will be thicker, more complete than ever before, and the blood of Heroes will flow.
1. Peaks and Valleys: Ginny Weasley

Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement. 

Dark Days: Ginny Weasley 

            **August 27, 1997**. Ginny fumbled about for the loose strand of red hair that playfully danced across her face in the stiff wind, tickling her nose and perpetually threatening to take her mind off of the unusual circumstances she now faced. She finally got a hold of it, and forcibly tucked it behind her freckled ear. She felt her brother's arms tighten around her waist from behind.. 

            "You alright there, Gin?" Charlie shouted into the howling wind. 

            "Oh my god…" Gin mumbled indistinctly.

            "Gin?" came Charlie's voice, more concerned this time.

            "Yeah, I'm fine!" she shouted, turning her head slightly to talk over her shoulder. As she did so, the strand of hair got loose again, jerking wildly about her face. "It's just so… wow. Breathtaking, I guess."

            "Isn't it?" he called, a note of pride evident. "And think: you're one of a dozen people to do this!"

            _Hagrid would wet his pants if he knew about this_, Gin mused.  

            Charlie Weasley and his coworkers had finally accomplished what no wizard had ever done in recorded history – the impossible task of taming a dragon. Ginny now sat astride a Common Welsh Green, soaring above the ocean off the coast of Iceland. At a gentle prod from her brother, Ginny pressed down gently on the makeshift harness affixed around the dragon's throat, and in response the great winged beast dove lower until they were nearly skimming the tops of the waves. In a rush, the smells of salt and foam filled her nostrils, and she coughed a little. 

             "Gloria" had been a sickly young dragon and undersized to boot, abandoned by her family as a runt. Without the intervention and care of the wizards, the dragon would have died in its infancy, likely as a snack to one of her older brothers. When Charlie had told her this, Ginny had just nodded knowingly: "Yeah, older brothers can be vicious like that." That particular remark had earned her a fierce session of tickling.

            As Gloria got older, she was still shunned by her own kind, and the Wranglers had decided to keep her out of the community, again fearing for her safety. At the same time, she developed a kindred spirit with her human keepers, with a particular fondness for a certain redhead. One day, Charlie had been brave enough to climb on her back, and was rewarded by being the first human to ride on back of one of these great beasts.

The sun was setting to her left side, casting fingers of orange and purple over the sky. The waters underneath were a dark blue: ominous and cold. She cast her gaze below into the darkening ocean, where a few small fish took notice of them and hurriedly dove deep into the murky sea. 

All around Ginny was arrayed the magnificence of all creation. She felt then like a miniscule part of the cosmic whole, something so big and so great that words, thoughts, and feelings could only be inadequate to express it. She was touched by a sense of peace, content. She inhaled deeply, loving every second of this ride. It was almost more than she could handle; sensory overload.

Charlie's arm left her side and rose over her shoulder, pointing to their right. A muggle ocean liner was in the distance, likely carrying German engine parts, or crates of frozen fish. At his suggestion, she pulled the reins to that side, leading Gloria gently east. Charlie and his friends had put a thorough round of enchantments on the dragon and her two riders, so that any muggle who looked at them would see and hear only a green helicopter. 

Within minutes, the dragon was flying leisurely beside the boat. Ginny giggled with delight, positively giddy, when she realized that a dozen or so dolphins were riding in the wake of the boat. The two Weasley sat in silence for a moment, witnessing the playful creatures beside the muggle vessel.

"Take her on up, we need to head back before it gets too dark!" Charlie instructed her.                                                                                       

Ginny frowned at the prospect of this perfect moment coming to an end, but obliged the command.            She eased the flying monster up, and was touched anew by the thrill of ascension, the joy of flying. It was as if all the problems in the world melted away as they rose into the heavens.

_Flying is the greatest feeling in the world! No wonder Harry loves it so much._

Ginny stiffened suddenly at this thought, an expression of grim acceptance covering her face. She could never seem to keep her mind off of him completely, no matter how remarkable or novel the activity that she was engaged in. Again she felt the flush of embarrassment that occurred when her mind drifted to thoughts of The Boy Who Lived. It was a constant struggle with her; keeping those interfering thoughts out of her conscious mind. She reasoned that if she did not think about him everyday, it could only be evident that she was no longer hopelessly in love with him.

The project was a lot like not thinking about the color red; as soon as someone gives the assignment, the hue will instantly fill one's thoughts, if only for an instant. Her failure at her own attempts filled her with frustration. 

"Down there!" Charlie called, gesturing to one of several small islands in the ocean. Neddleton Island did not appear on any Muggle map; Ministry wizards had enchanted it heavily in order to keep it secret. Neddleton Island was home to a small group of wizards and their dragon companions. Ginny led Gloria into the middle of a patch of tents and hastily constructed buildings far below. 

Ginny gently eased the dragon down in wide spirals. Gloria certainly seemed to know where she was heading. A few short minutes later, the redheaded sixteen-year-old was climbing down reluctantly. She stopped for a moment, and placed her palm tenderly on the side of the beast's scaly head.

"Err, Gin, not necessarily a good idea-" Charlie interjected, but she scarcely heard him.

She was instead concentrating all of her energy on a single thought, as if she could communicate it by simply wanting to badly enough. _Thank you bringing something beautiful into my life_. She peered compassionately into the large eye of the dragon, searching for some manner of recognition. Perhaps it was just her whimsy, but she thought Gloria understood. 

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **August 27, 1997**. "I'm glad you could make it out here, Gin," Charlie was saying. 

She was sitting outside of his tent, gathered around the fire with a couple of his coworkers. Charlie had pitched his tent a good ways away from the bulk of the campsite, on a small hill. It was the most popular gathering place for off-duty dragon wranglers. A large meal, consisting largely of beans and rice, had been prepared and Ginny ate heavily, surprised at her suddenly vigorous appetite. 

            "Three cheers to that!" a fellow by the name of Jimson echoed loudly, lifting up the bottle of Odgen's Firewhiskey that he had been consuming. A few ragged cheers accompanied the toast from the group gathered there. 

Charlie flushed a shade of red, and it was hard to tell whether this was anger of embarrassment. He muttered something about "Hexes in the night" and Ginny laughed.

            Jimson passed the bottle to his right, and the next youth in line imbibed heavily, tossing Ginny a toothy grin after he did so. 

            To her right, she heard a snort of disgust, and turned to behold Sandra, one of the few women working there and the only other in that particular circle. She was a younger witch, likely 22 or so, with straight black hair, and a pretty smile. "You'd think they'd never seen a woman before, the way they go on," Sandra told her in a confidential undertone. "It's a good thing you're here – usually it's me they leer at like that." She and Ginny shared a good-natured laugh at the expense of the foolish boys.

            "All kidding aside, I'm glad you could make it out here. Mum and Dad told me things have been kind of rough, and- oh, thanks," Charlie said, interrupted by suddenly receiving the bottle of Firewhiskey in his lap. He tipped his head back, and took a generous swig.

            Ginny was thankful that he was not for a second paying attention to her, because she broke into a scowl that no one else could see in the dim firelight. _So. Mum and Dad put you up to this_. They had been worried about her, and for good reason. They probably figured this trip would help her to take her mind off the things going on at home.

            It was true, she had been somewhat strung out lately. Everyone was, what with the fear of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the continuing demands of the Order, and then, to top it off… 

Ron had been looking pretty glum, Hermione had been stressed, and Harry was looking worse than he had since the death of Sirius. _(No! Don't think about Harry!)_ Even Fred and George had not been seen smiling in what seemed like years.

            The shadow of the Dark Lord had been cast ever farther. Good witches and wizards were hard to come by, as many died, many disappeared, and the ones that remained looked increasingly suspicious. It was hard to know whom to trust anymore. 

            Earlier in the summer, they had gotten clearance from Dumbledore to invite Harry over for the rest of vacation, but that had come to a rather dramatic close a week before. 

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **August 20, 1997**. Silence hung, oppressive and thick in Ron's bedroom. Ginny was sitting on the floor next to Ron, their backs pressed against his bed. Hermione leaned against the wall opposite them, and Harry sat on top of the bed, staring out the window. It was a moonless and overcast night, and even the orange walls seemed dark and ominous. The whole house was cased in a complete stillness, and the only sound Ginny could hear was her heart beating in her chest. She wished the ghoul in the attic would turn over a box or something, just so they might have some noise. Tragically, even he seemed to realize the gravity of the situation and remained calm.

            "Harry," Hermione said, breaking the silence. 

            Harry continued to stare out into the night, the expression on his face unchanged.__

"Harry," Hermione repeated, more plaintively. Ginny looked up at him, a curious fear beginning to work in her mind. "Come sit next to me."

            "I am sitting," Harry observed, his voice dull and flat.

            "They told us not to get to close to the window, you know that. It's dangerous for you. Just come sit down and it will all be over soon enough," Hermione implored him. Downstairs, Molly Weasley, Dedalus Diggle, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Elphias Doge were watching out from all the windows, alert to any attack. An hour before they had been celebrating Harry's birthday, when they received word through the Floo Network that Deatheaters were seen in the area, and the kids had been sent upstairs as a precaution. 

            "That's what I'm afraid of, 'Mione," Harry answered, a flash of anger playing across his fingers. "I don't like being in here at all."

            Ron feigned a little offense at the remark. "Oh, it's not so bad in here. I know the color scheme could use a little help, but it's okay if you like the Cannons," he quipped.

            Harry took his attention off of the window and turned to regard his mate. Harry'sface could not seem to decide whether to be angry or to be amused. "I certainly prefer them to the Wasps, if that's what you're asking." He let out a small chuckle, and the rising tension in the room was dispelled immediately.

            A crashing noise came from below, followed by a woman's scream. Ginny felt her heart turn to ice; there was only one woman downstairs. Her breath came quickly, and terrified tears started to pour out of her eyes. She looked over at Ron, as she began to quiver, and saw that his face had completely gone white. Hermione began whimpering.

            The sounds of a struggle could be heard clearly now, as a wizard shouted out "Obliviate!", followed by more crashing noises. It was hard to tell whether the voice was friend or foe. Ginny began crying in earnest now, and she felt Ron put his arms aroundher consolingly. 

            "It's okay, Gin," he breathed, not sounding very convinced. She buried her face into his shoulder and tried to stop shaking.

            Hermione was the first to see it. "Harry, don't." They could clearly hear her terrified voice. "Oh God, Harry, please don't."

            Ginny looked up in surprise to see that Harry had risen from the bed and was striding purposefully toward the door. She put her hand out to catch his, but he brushed past her.

            "Harry, you can't!" she squealed.

            "Mate, what are you doing?" Ron half-shouted, clearly incredulous. He jumped to his feet and put his hand on Harry's elbow just as the dark-haired boy had reached the door. Harry shrugged off the hand forcefully, and turned to face his friend. 

            "I gotta go out there," he said, his voice deafeningly quiet. 

            "No, you can't-" Ginny protested frantically. "They'll kill you!"

            Ron raised his hands as if to hold Harry back by force. "What are you going to do, mate? You can't hope to fight with Deatheaters!"__

"I suppose you're right,," Harry pronounced flatly. His head drooped slightly and he turned back into the room. Ron breathed a heavy sigh and relaxed. Then Harry caught him off-guard with a strong stiff-arm to the chest, sending Ron sprawling over the bed. In a fluid motion Harry pulled the door open and swept outside. Ginny began screaming, watching him go in horror, the hallway behind him lit up with hazardous spells. In an instant he was outside, and the door was shut. 

Ron recovered his feet and tried the door. "It's locked," be breathed, surprised. "But I don't have a lock on my door!"

Hermione had also gotten to her feet, and pushed past Ron. She tapped her wand on the knob, muttering "Alohomora". She tried the door again, but without any luck. "He's put some kind of charm on it," she explained, looking around worried. They both sat on the edge of Ron's bed, looking dazed.

Down below, they could hear the battle raging furiously.  For ten solid minutes the house shook with violent spells, occasionally ending in human voices singing out in anguish. Ron and Hermione had joined Ginny on the floor, and the three of them huddled together, crying heavily. Every minute, Ginny expected to see the door torn open, and a Deatheater on the other side, grinning with murder in his eyes. Ron perhaps was thinking the same; he kept his eyes trained on the door, his right hand twitching around his wand. 

Eventually the noise died down and the awful silence returned, the feeling of death heavy in the air. Ginny continued to cry, a sense of horrible anticipation wearing_ on _her senses. Long minutes passed slowly, and the feeling of foreboding worsened. Not a sound could be heard from below, save the occasional odd creak of the old house. An owl hooted outside a few minutes later, startling the three kids greatly. They looked out the window from their place on the floor, not daring to get up.

Still, nothing happened. Ginny thought she might lose her mind with terror. It was like a terrible dream from which she could not wake up. 

Then, suddenly, the silence lifted as voices could be heard indistinctly in the otherwise noiseless house. There must have been six or seven people, judging by the creaking of the floorboards, all conversing in low, concerned tones. After a few moreminutes, someone could be heard ascending the stairs, and then a heavy banging on the outside of the door. 

"Children!" came the shriek of Molly Weasley, anguished and half out of her mind. "Children! Are you okay?"

Ginny experienced an intense sensation of relief, and let out a strangled cry: "Mom!"

"Ginny!" Came the reply. "Are you okay?"

"We're here, Mom, and we're fine!" Ron shouted back, getting to his feet and walking towards the door. "What's happened?"

"Oh, thank goodness you're okay! I was so worried!"

"Mom, what has happened?" Ron repeated, even more loudly. 

"Mom, where is Harry?" Ginny called, her voice nearly a scream.

"We were attacked! Everything's under control now. Harry's okay." Mrs. Weasley's answer could not have been more welcome. Ginny turned to Hermione and pulled her close into a tight embrace.

"Can you let us out of here, Mum?" Ron shouted.

"Hang on!" Mrs. Weasley called back. "Alohomora!" they heard from the other side of the door. "Blast!"

"Already tried that one, Mom!" Ron called to the other side.

"Okay, step away from the door: I'm coming in!" 

Ron obliged, and a second later Mrs. Weasley appeared with a loud POP beside him. "Oh thank heavens!" she exclaimed, pulling Ron into a stifling hug. Ginny and Hermione got to their feet, and the four of them pressed together in a solid mass of flesh. 

Minutes later, they broke apart, and Ginny asked again about Harry.

"Well, he's okay. I don't think he's been hurt at all, but he's quite shaken up. Why did you let him leave?" she asked suddenly.

"Didn't," Ron breathed, sounding a little disgusted. "He knocked me down and ran out of here."

"He must have put quite a Sealing Charm on the door, huh?" Hermione observed. 

"Yes, and we'll get someone up here to open it soon enough," Mrs. Weasley told them. "For the time being, it's better that you remain in here."

"Mom, what happened?" Ron asked, his voice very grave.

Mrs. Weasley was a minute in answering. Ginny's heart plummeted, a sensation of cold starting in her feet and spreading quickly through her body. 

"I can't quite answer your question, Ron. I was downstairs when they attacked. There were roughly ten Deatheaters here, and they swooped down on us so quickly that it's a wonder that I survived. As it happens, I was, urm, stuck in the cupboard most of the time myself."

"What?" gasped Ron.

"Harry?" Hermione asked.

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "I think so. From that point on, I was as removed from the action as all of you were, up until the point where Dumbledore showed up and let me out. Children, it isn't easy for me to tell you this, but you must know that we suffered casualties this night. Kingsley, Dedalus and Elphias are all dead."

The words hit Ginny like a brick. "But, Dumbledore got here in time to save Harry?" she asked timidly.

Mrs. Weasley seemed about to answer, then thought better of it. She took a moment to choose her words carefully, then said: "Yes, I suppose he did."

Ginny looked over at Hermione, a question passing unspoken between them.

A noise from the door grabbed their attention. The doorknob turned and Albus Dumbledore appeared before them.

"Ah, another Sealing Charm. I trust everything is okay in here?" he said.

Mrs. Weasley got to her feet immediately, like a soldier saluting a general. "Yes, Albus. I think the kids were as removed from the action as I was."__

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed. You may come downstairs now if you wish, but I warn you that everything hasn't been cleaned up yet."

Ginny didn't need to be told twice. She, Ron and Hermione got up and filed down the stairs. Behind her, she could hear Dumbledore speaking quietly to her mother. "Molly, are you sure that there were only three members of the Order here before we arrived?"

"Yes, Albus, of course."          

Ginny could see that the house was devastated by the time she reached the last step. Furniture had been smashed, portraits torn from the wall and broken glass strewn about the floor. The floor at the base of the stairwell was covered in an unmistakable red fluid. She went into the living room immediately, where the large picture windows had been broken in. She saw Remus Lupin and Professor McGonagall standing in the foyer, talking in hushed tones. On a curious instinct, she snuck closer, staying out of their peripheral vision until she could hear them clearly.

"When we got here, it was so quiet I thought everyone must be dead," Remus remarked. "I nearly had a heart-attack when Molly started banging around in the pantry."

"It doesn't add up, Remus," McGonagall exclaimed. "Diggle, Shacklebolt and Doge were all found in the living room. Molly was apparently sealed up in the kitchen. We found 4 dead Deatheaters inside and 4 more outside! Yet, by the time we arrived, this had apparently been over for ten minutes! How did Molly get in that cupboard?"

"She says Harry put her in there, presumably to keep her out of harm's way," Remus answered. "Her story was that they came in through the living room window and killed Diggle and Doge straight away."

McGonagall looked aghast. "Then… then… Harry and Shacklebolt took down 8 Deatheaters by themselves? How is that even possible?"

            "How?" Lupin echoed. "I've got the answer to that, Minerva, but you may not want to hear it."

            "Huh?"

            Lupin gestured toward the kitchen. "We've been saying for years what a powerful wizard he'll be someday, and we've watched him grow up too quickly. And now that he has, how surprised can we be?"

            "Harry?" McGonagall exclaimed. "But, you can't mean… Oh, Merlin's beard."

            Ginny edged forward from her position next to the overturned sofa and peered into the kitchen. Harry Potter sat at the dining table, a glazed look in his eyes. He was simply staring into space out the window, his wand lying on the table in front of him. He wiped his hair out of his eyes with his left hand. His attention returned to present momentthen, as he realized that his face had been slathered with blood from his hands. A look ofpure revulsion crossed his face, and he began wiping it off violently with the tail of his shirt.

            Ginny emitted a small gasp, drawing attention to herself. Lupin and McGonagall ceased their conversation immediately, and they stepped outside and away from her. Ginny began to slowly walk toward Harry, who did not show any sign of seeing her. She made it to his side, watched him shudder noiselessly next to her. She put her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, as they both began to cry.

            There was a distance between them now that had never existed previously. In her arms she could almost feel him aging years in the span of minutes. He had seen and sone things that day that pulled him entirely out of the realm of her ken. She felt the importance of everything that came before this moment – long talks by the fireside in the burrow, easy hours spent playing Quidditch, surprised laughter at the latest prank of her twin brothers, even her hopeless and eternal crush on him -- slide away right there. Even as she held him tighter she could feel him getting further and further away. 

            That night, Dumbledore took Harry away from the Burrow, and she had not seen him since. 

_                                    *                      *                      *                      *_

**August 27, 1997**. "Oi!" Charlie exclaimed, making a fist and pounding it once into his chest. "That does pack a wallop!" He held the bottle of Ogden's up to the light and beheld with a new respect. He then reached past her to hand the bottle to Sandra, but Ginny intercepted him and took the bottle, giving her older brother a wicked smile.

            "Ginny, that-" Charlie protested, but broke off as Ginny took a healthy swallow of the beverage. Jimson and several of the others gave a cheer when she lowered the bottle and gave a small smile.

            Meanwhile, the inside of Ginny's mouth and her throat had fused together, melting and sinking into her stomach. A dizzy sensation spread instantly into her head, and for a wild second she thought she might throw up. Steam must have been pouring out of her ears, and she wondered fleeting if she could breathe fire like the dragons they were there to watch. She held in the temptation to cough, and after a moment the feeling passed. It was, without a doubt, among the roughest physical sensations she had yet encountered. She took another swig and passed the bottle to Sandra, eliciting another round of cheers from the boys. Even Charlie looked impressed.

            "Tell me, Ginny, does Charlie have a nice place for you to sleep?" Jimson asked, his voice thick and sloppy. "If not, there's room in my tent…"

            Everyone laughed again as Charlie started pelting Jimson with sticks and small rocks until the other wizard apologized.

            The conversation was light and friendly, wandering about from Quidditch to Camp gossip and back, always keeping a healthy distance from International Magical events, and no one dared mention the V-word. The bottle was passed around until it was emptied, and another one magically appeared to replace it. 

Charlie was in the midst of a riotous tale, likely fictional, about an unscheduled trip to Hogsmeade he had taken with some of his mates during their sixth year. He was interrupted briefly again when the wizard next to him handed him the bottle.

"Thanks, Chas," he said, putting the rim to his lips. His eyes raised skyward and he was just about to throw the bottle back when he stopped suddenly, a look of horror crossing his face. "Crap!"

The rest of the circle looked up and saw what had caused that reaction. There in the night sky, shimmering in eerie green, was the Dark Mark. Flying underneath it were roughly three dozen wizards, riding brooms with wands extended. A ripple of cold passed through the group, and many curses were uttered. Ginny could feel her heart beating furiously in her chest, and a sense of great terror washed over her.

Charlie found his wand and put out the fire. Darkness swallowed them instantly. Muted voices rang out, as several wizards in various degrees of inebriation looked for their wands. Meanwhile the Deatheaters laid siege to the main campsite. Most of the lights had been extinguished, covering the entire island in shadows, and all that could be seen was the rapid flash of green lights as spells were launched in frenzy.

Within seconds, the entire group at Charlie's tent had prepared, and the elder Weasley assumed command. He hissed orders in a low, urgent voice, and the other wranglers listened attentively. "Sandra! Apparate to Ministry of Magic and tell them we're under attack. Collins, go to Hogsmeade, and start looking for Dumbledore. I don't know if you'll be able to find him, but we'll stand a much better chance if we can alert the Order."

Ginny could not see her brother, but felt his attention on her. "Ginny, get in the tent and pull my sleeping bag over you."

"That's not fair!" she protested.

"Can it, Ginny. Get in the tent!" he barked.

Ginny decided against arguing, and capitulated. She fumbled about for the entrance to the tent, unable to see a thing.

"What should I do, Charlie?" Jimson stammered.

"Er," Charlie hesitated, clearly not wanting to include the drunk young wizard in his plans. "Stay here, and guard my sister. Don't make a sound, and don't make any light. Stay here until I return, and stay perfectly quiet!" He started to divide his team in half, laying plans to flank the enemy. They left suddenly, and Ginny was left in the tent, with Jimson keeping intoxicated guard in front.

Charlie Weasley never returned. 

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **September 1, 1997**. Ginny stared out the window of the Hogwarts Express as gray countryside flowed past, lost in her own thoughts. Across from her sat her brother, staring at the ceiling and not saying anything. He already had his school robes on, but his Prefect badge was somehow missing from them.  Next to him sat Hermione, her arm thrown around his shoulder, looking typically concerned. She continued to gaze sorrowfully at Ron, eyes brimming with tears, but if he noticed her he gave no sign of it.

            Next to Ginny sat Neville Longbottom. He had, of course, heard of Charlie's untimely demise, and sat fidgeting most of the time, obviously wanting to say something but just as clearly not knowing what that might be. He would shuffle about in his seat, try to make eye contact with her, and then clear his throat as if about to speak. But he never did, and Ginny was not about to invite the conversation. Between them, no one said a word through the entire train ride, except for when Hermione informed the witch pushing the snacks cart that no one in their compartment cared for any refreshment. 

            It was, without any doubt, the worst ride to Hogwarts Ginny could ever remember. The sense that things were not right was heightened by the fact that Harry was not on the train. They had not been told for sure, but Ginny expected that he was already at Hogwarts, safe in the private company of Professor Dumbledore.

            They arrived in Hogsmeade just after sunset. In darkness of atmosphere and darkness of thought, the four weary souls trudged over the carriages that would take them to the school. She felt truly guilty for not even stopping to greet Hagrid, who was leading the first years to their boats. She hoped he would understand. They arrived at the carriages, and Ginny's eyes went wide. 

She felt a comforting hand on her elbow, and turned to see Luna looking graver than she would have guessed possible. She meant to tell Luna that it was okay, she was fine, but instead she blurted:            "Oh, so that's a thestral."

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **September 1, 1997**. Ginny hardly paid attention to the sorting, or to Dumbledore's opening address. She just stared up at the bewitched ceiling of the Great Hall, which looked almost uniformly black. She looked around for a while but did not see him anywhere. If he had died, I would have heard about it by now. She felt the old guilt for thinking about him so much, but pushed it away. It did not matter anymore. She just needed him there, and she did not care to guess why. 

            Ginny resolved herself to staring at the surface of her table, and was content to do so, looking up now and again. She was distracted for a moment by a loud cheering from the Slytherin table. Severus Snape had finally achieved his dream; Professor Dumbledore had just announced that he would fill the recently vacated post of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts. The greasy haired former Potions master was standing up at the table, taking a few mock bows, and acting very proud of himself. The ovation from the Slytherin table persisted, and Ginny felt her irritation rise. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Bulistrode, Parkinson… they could all go to hell.

            Shortly thereafter, food appeared on the table, but Ginny ignored it. She just kept dragging the edge of her knife across the surface of the table, making abstract patches of markings. At long last, Dumbledore dismissed them, and Ginny followed the herd of Gryffindors to their common room. She received the new password ("Pallas Athena"), but did not enter the chamber with the rest of her house. There was someone she had to see. She looked left and right down the long corridor and, satisfied that it was abandoned, made her cautious way to the North Tower.

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **September 1, 1997**. Ginny did not bother to ensure that the passages were empty. She made no effort to conceal the noise of her shoes. She could not have stopped the tears if she wanted to. The desire to avoid capture had left her, and all that remained was the need to be as far away from Professor Trelawney as possible. She ran as fast as her legs could take her, not knowing how long she had been running, or where she was headed.

            She ended up in The Restroom: not the restroom in Gryffindor House, not the faculty restroom, but The Restroom. Broken glass laid beneath one sink, still left there from her first year. The lights had long since gone out and no one had bothered to replace them. Moaning Myrtle was nowhere to be seen, oddly enough. She had heard that the ghost preferred the prefects' restroom these days, not that it mattered. She had not come here to see Myrtle.

            She walked slowly to The Sink, her heart beating heavily. She caught her reflection momentarily in the mirror before her, but tried to avoid the panicked expression in her own eyes. Instead, she kneeled before The Sink and examined the copper taps beneath it. She knew, somehow, what to do: concentrating with all her energy on the dark memories of her first year, she breathed "Open up."

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **September 1, 1997**. "Ginny? Ginny, are you here?" his voice called out into the darkness. Harry cast his lit wand back and forth in the abject darkness, looking around for her. Finally, the wide beam of his light fell on her huddled mass, cowering in front of the front of the face of Salazar Slytherin. He was, undoubtedly, struck with a pronounced sense of déjà vu. "There you are," he said softly.

            "You knew I was here all along," she answered spitefully. "How did you find me?"

            "The Marauders' Map. I took the liberty of expanding it include the Chamber of Secrets last year, once I'd learned how," he said thoughtfully. "Y'know, just in case."

            "Put that out, would you?" she asked, squinting in the bright wand-light. 

            "Um, sure," he muttered, obliging her. Near-complete darkness took them, save for an eerie green light with no clear source. He found his way over to her and sat down. Whatever sense of urgency he might have felt to locate her washed away; she could tell that he was willing to sit there as long as she wished. _Indeed, why go back_? She had not seen him since the Deatheaters attacked her home. Each day that had passed found Ginny wondering where he was, how he was, what sort of things were going on in his mind. In the days after Charlie's death, she longed for him as never before; as if only he could pull her through her suffering.

They said nothing for the span of several minutes. He finally broke the silence by asking, "So, why'd you come down here?"

            _Because I knew only you could come down here and find me_. "Because I wanted to be alone," she said simply. 

            "Yeah, but, why the Chamber of Secrets? I... I didn't know that you could still get in here."

            Ginny sighed resignedly. "I suppose once you've been touched by evil, it never really goes away."

            Harry did not respond to this. "So, you needed to be alone. I can sympathize, I really can. But why not take a walk around the lake or something? Why not leave a note s your friends wouldn't worry?"

            Ginny felt her cheeks burn, and was thankful that he could not see her expression. "I guess I wasn't thinking very clearly. I'm sorry."

            "It's okay, Gin, I'm just glad you aren't hurt."

            A few more minutes passed in silence. "Harry," Ginny began. "I've missed you."

            She heard Harry exhale heavily. He put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her close to him, hugging her tightly. She put up no resistance, but put her arms around his waist, burying her face in his robes. "I've missed you too, Gin. It's been a long couple of weeks for both of us, I think. I can't… I can't begin to tell you the things that have been going on in my head. I've been here at Hogwarts for nearly two weeks, in peace and quiet, and I still keep thinking about them, over and over again."

            "Who, Harry?" she asked, pulling away and looking him in the eye, their faces mere inches apart.

            "The Deatheaters," he pronounced solemnly. "The people I killed. I… I've always wanted to be a hero, Gin, to save the day. I knew I would have to fight, and I guess I even knew I would have to kill. I could never have imagined what it would be like, though. Every morning, I have to wake up and face myself, knowing that people are no longer on this Earth because of me. That's hard to accept."

            Ginny did not respond, not knowing in the least what to say. She looked at him for a moment, regarding the flickering emotions on his face. She could tell that he was trying to be strong, trying to accept his new place in the world, and having a hard time with it. He looked like he wanted to cry, and wanted to shrug it all off at the same time, and ended stuck somewhere in between. Finding no words of comfort to offer, she embraced him again, squeezing him as hard as she could.

            "I, um, I'm sorry about what happened to Charlie," he said after a moment. "I wish I had been there."

            She let go of him again, fixing a hard look on him. "Why, Harry? So you could have died, too? If you were there, you would have just joined in the fight, and been killed. No one survived the attack, except me and Jimson, because we didn't get into the fight."

            Harry pondered this. "Maybe so. It just kills me that, well, that you were in trouble and I couldn't be there to help you."

            _Oh, foolish Boy. You can't save everyone, Harry. Not all the time. _

            "How have you been, Ginny? You know, since?" he asked in a gentle tone.

            _Horrible._ "I've been getting by," she said with a sigh. "I've been trying to make sense out of the whole thing, and I just can't. I've been looking everywhere for some solace, some way of making it better, and I haven't found that either. I went to see Professor Trelawney tonight, Harry. I asked her about what was happening, where it was all going… I asked her how many more loved ones I would lose. She couldn't tell me. She didn't know, Harry. You and Ron and Hermione are always going on about how she's such a lunatic, that she doesn't know anything. She gave me some crap about the difficulty of the inner eye, and proposed we consult the tea leaves."

            "Yeah, she's nutters all right," Harry said with a small laugh.

            "That's just it Harry. One minute she's making tea, talking about Grims and the alignment of Neptune, and then suddenly she stops, dropping her teacup and going all stiff. And then she starts speaking in this possessed voice, like she's no longer there at all."

            Harry went completely silent. "Yeah, I saw that once, too. In our third year-"

            "In your third year," Ginny corrected him.

            "Yeah, you're a year behind me, aren't you?" Harry laughed sheepishly, and Ginny's heart surged with inexplicable emotion.  "I keep forgetting that. Anyway, I saw her give a real prophecy once, the night Wormtail escaped. And it all came true… What did she say, Ginny?"

            Ginny had been preparing for this question. She had spent most of the last couple of hours there in the dark, going over and over Trelawney's Prophecy in her head, until she had memorized it all.

            "Dark Days have come upon us all," she pronounced solemnly. "Muggle and Wizard alike. Calamities will abound as the shadow of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named passes over the land. This darkness will be thicker, more complete than ever before, and the blood of Heroes will flow. Hallowed institutions of old will burn to the ground in the wake of this fierce storm. Death has visited the House of Weasley once already, but will be back again in force. The Boy-Who-Lived will turn his wand to no avail against his mortal enemy; the Dark Lord may only fall to the Only One He Ever Feared."

            Harry sat in silence, appearing troubled by the words.

            "Harry, I'm scared because you're going to try to stop him one of these days, and you're going to be killed," Ginny sobbed, not previously aware that she was even crying. 

            Harry grabbed her head in both hands and turned it to face him. "Just let me worry about that, alright Gin?"

            She looked into his eyes in the dim green light, felting herself warm up inside. She remembered vividly her last trip to the Chamber of Secrets. She had been weak, her life drained away by some incarnation of the Dark Lord. Harry had come to her rescue then, when even her brother Ron had been trapped behind a rock wall. Harry came alone, and faced down that version of the Dark Lord, as well as a basilisk, just to save her, nearly at the cost of his life. She knew that it was that moment that had turned her childhood crush into absolute devotion.

            And now, over four years later, they were alone again in the Chamber of Secrets.

            "I think it's time we revived an old tradition," Harry said then. "Dumbledore's Army."

            Ginny was a little surprised by this declaration. "But why? Umbridge is gone, and we have a DADA teacher that will actually teach us now."

            "Snape? Yeah, maybe. But the DA isn't about who the headmaster is, or what we are learning in our classes – it's about preparing us all for the war ahead. Trelawney was right about one thing, at least – these are Dark Days indeed. It may very well be up to us to turn the tide against evil."

            She nodded. "Harry, I… I don't think I'm ready for it."

            Harry brushed the back of hand against her left cheek tenderly, regarding her with a most delicate look. "Don't worry Ginny. Whatever happens, I will never let them hurt you."

            There had always been a little voice at the back of her head, egging her on. Whenever she was alone with Harry, the voice would act up, encouraging her to act on her longstanding crush in a way he could not fail to notice. _Kiss him! Kiss him! Kiss him right now, you fool! Kisshimkisshimkisshimkisshim! _For once, Ginny listened to thevoice, and leaned in to plant a soft kiss on his quivering lips.

            For a second, the world froze. The Chamber of Secrets vanished, leaving only perfect darkness in its place. Her friends in the school above ceased to worry about her, ceased to exist. The Dark Lord's reign of terror screeched to a stop. Faces, names, places all melted away for one beautiful moment.

            Harry pulled back from her and they regarded each other in silence. The perfect moment had passed. Time began flowing smoothly again, and they were just two confused teenagers again, huddled together in the dank stone chamber. 


	2. Personal Tragedies: Dudley Dursley

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.**

Dark Days: Dudley Dursley

            **September 6, 1997**.Dudley Dursley sat at the kitchen table, eating a horrible sandwich and drinking one of his father's beers. Petunia Dursley was at in the living room, watching a late movie and finishing her sixth glass of Zinfandel. Vernon Dursley was likely out at the club, likely already drunk, and likely there with his secretary (as he was constantly accused of by his wife).

            Dudley glanced up at the clock at the wall, and grumbled with obvious dissatisfaction. It was only 9:30, which meant that Mr. Polkiss would be home for another half hour before he left for work, the grave shift at a nearby convenience store. Mrs. Polkiss had departed earlier in the year for Paris, without Mr. Polkiss, but with Mr. Saunders, her personal trainer at the local gym. All things put together, Dudley and his crew found the home of Piers to be the best place to hang out in the late hours.

            Dudley took another bite of the stale sandwich, his face contorted in chagrin. Things clearly were not right. The floor was dirty, his shirt had not been pressed in recent memory, and he had had to make his own sandwich with unsatisfactory bread and old ham.

He knew who's fault all this was; that skinny little freak. Ever since… ever since **that day**, things had taken quite a turn for the worse. 

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

**July 1, 1996**_. _He knew that things were different from the moment Harry sat down at the kitchen table. There were clues abound; the stony look in Harry's green eyes, the nervous glances exchanged by the elder Dursleys, the heavy silence hanging in the air. The single most striking fact about Harry's entrance was his choice of where to sit – in Dudley's chair.

            Dudley came to a sudden halt where he stood in front of the refrigerator. The dark-haired orphan regarded him coolly. He had just gotten up to refill his glass of lemonade and turned around to find that menace in his seat. Dudley's normally pink face flushed red with indignation. "That's my chair," he stated simply, not clearly directed at anyone in the room.

            The skinny freak broke into a small smile. "You didn't call seat-check," he replied.__

"I don't have to call seat-check," Dudley retorted hotly, breathing in deeply and flexing his muscles in what he hoped was an impressive show. "It's my chair."

            The weirdo locked gazes with him. No one spoke for a second. "Not today," it replied, maintaining eye contact.

            Dudley started at these words. How dare he? Just because all of those sickos in the train station had made those awful threats, it did not mean that he ought to lose his chair. Dudley mulled about his options for a second before resolving not to hit the Potter-child with a chair. Yet. "Dad, tell him to get out of my chair."

            "Dudley, don't make a fuss-" Petunia began, before her husband cut in. 

"Boy," he growled, distaste evident in his voice. He had been pouring himself a cup of coffee, but he paused for a moment to dress down the unwanted guest in his home. "Get out of his chair, now."

            Dudley bristled with glee. His father would set things right, he always did. His father knew how worthless that boy was, and that deviant had never got the better of them yet.

            The other youth seemed to ignore the statement altogether. He finally broke eye contact with Dudley and turned those awful eyes on the patriarch of the Dursleys.

            "Have you ever seen someone die?" he asked quietly.

            Vernon Dursley's reaction was immediate. He set down his coffee mug with difficulty, as his hands were shaking with violent rage. "What?" he gasped indignantly. "What did you say to me?"

            "Have you ever seen someone die?" the boy repeated, this time more loudly and slowly, with an edge of malice in his voice.

            "What does that have to do with-" his father began, but the impudent boy interrupted.

            "Have you?"

            "As a matter of fact, I…" his father's voice faltered. Dudley could tell that he was casting his mind back to find an instance of death in his recollection. Something uncomfortable was filling the room. His mother had stopped arranging dishes on the shelf, and was now watching the unfolding scene in utter dismay. His father seemed to be losing his nerve, and Dudley felt his own nervousness rising."My grandmother, er,although I didn't actually see that, but what has that to do with-"__

"Have you ever seen s a body go from living to dead, in the span of a breath? Have you ever looked into the vacant eyes of the recently dead, searching for some sign of life? Have you ever felt a body start to go cold in front of you? Tell me, uncle," this word the wretch pronounced with an ugly sneer on its even uglier face. "Have you ever seen death?"

            Vernon Dursley was silent. Dudley stared at his father, aghast in silence. He turned to regard his mother, who was beginning to cry, looking in horror at the boy in her only son's chair. Dudley, in a state of panic, turned back around to the pest.

            "I thought not," it continued in a low voice that everyone could hear plainly. "After what I have seen, uncle, I don't think you can ever call me `boy' again."

            This settled the matter for Vernon Dursley, who stared in silence for a moment, then picked up his coffee mug again as if nothing had ever happened, trying to figure out why his hands were shaking so much. 

            Dudley watched his father, a sense of disgust with everyone in the room pervading his thoughts. His mother had failed to defend his right to his own property, and against a beastly outsider. His father acted like a scared child in the face of the skinny runt that had been so much trouble to him for all of Dudley's life. And the villain still sat in his chair. Trying to ignore the fear he felt, manifesting itself as a tremor in his legs, Dudley banged his glass down on the nearest side of the table, splashing yellow liquid onto the top. 

            "Get out!" he yelled.

"Dudders!" his mother yelped, as if struck.

            "Shut it mother!" Dudley roared over his shoulder. He gripped the edge of the table with both hands, employing a force so great that his knuckles went from pink to white. He leveled his gaze at the quiet brat that absorbed all of his loathing. 

            "Dudley, I don't think…" his father interjected quietly.

            "Father, if you won't handle this, I will."

            The Potter child looked a little amused by this, but got to his feet, and regarded Dudley almost whimsically. "And what do you intend to do, Dudders?"

            The taunt did not fail to register with Dudley. He began to shake with a curious mixture of anger and fear. In his hands, the table quaked forcefully, an amplified show of the feeling in his heart. 

            "I'm going to break your neck," Dudley pushed the words out of him with all the air in his lungs. As the wind left his body, he felt all of his strength go with it. His confidence suddenly dissolved, and the boy across the table only smiled; a sinister,gruesome smile.

            "You'll do what now?" he hissed. "I've run from you and your friends for years, Dudley. I've dodged your blows, listened to your angry words patiently, and put up with your unending threats. But today, I have had enough. Today, I say we see how it goes. Today, I say you do exactly as you've been threatening to, and go ahead kill me."

            Dudley didn't remember letting go of the table, or even taking a few long strides away from his enemy. He just found himself pressed against his mother's side, her arm draped limply across his collarbone. "But… you can't use magic. They'll kick you out!" he protested. 

            Harry just shrugged. "That may be. But I'll tell you a secret, Duds, a big nasty secret from MY world. You know; the one you and your parents try so hard to ignore. And the secret is this: I don't care anymore. I'm so fed up with the death and the fear and the anger, I'm ready to let it all go. If anyone pushes me, just a little bit, I'm ready to go over the line. If the bullshit doesn't stop right here, if I am not treated like a human beingin my own home, I might just snap. So, to answer your question, I would get in a world of trouble for using magic, it's true, but that fact won't help you in the least by that time."

            The words hung heavy in the air. Dudley was not sure how much time passed, he simply knew that he could find no words to pierce the feeling of overwhelming terror in his mind.

            "So, what I'm going to do now is sit down here, in your chair, and wait. You have exactly two options, Dudley. You can either find out exactly what I've learned in the magical world so far, or –" Harry paused, his voice breaking into a genuine laugh. "-Or, you can bring me a sandwich."

            Dudley stared, not comprehending. "What?" he managed at last.

            "Bitch!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes going wide. "Get me a sandwich!"

            After the longest four seconds of his life, Dudley retrieved a sandwich from the refrigerator and placed it in front of Harry. 

            "Thank you, Dudley," Harry said, and began thoughtfully chewing on his dinner.

            Later that night, an owl flew in the open living room window, enraging Dudley and horrifying his mother. The skinny freak was not even bothered, striding purposefully over to the bird and taking the letter, as if defying any of the Dursleys to make a comment. He scanned the note quickly, running his free hand through his mop of a hairdo. He looked up, announcing that his weird people would be there to pick him up in half an hour or so. Without so much as another word, he went upstairs and presumably began packing.

            Finally.

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            Dudley finished his sandwich with one last impressive mouthful. He looked up at the clock, and realized that twenty minutes had passed without his noticing. He got up, and walked over to the phone. "Hey, asswipe!" he shouted cheerily when his mate answered the phone. "You heading over to Piers'? Why the hell not? Grounded?!? Pussy! No, I just wanted some company on the walk, ass hole! Call me scared again and we'll see what I do to you. Yeah… pussy!" He hung up the phone, cursing loudly.

"I'm going over to Piers'!" he shouted to no one in particular. He opened the refrigerator and took a couple more of his father's beers, heading out the back door. He ignored the concerned voice of his mother, who likely only wanted to hold him up with something trivial at the last minute. _Useless woman_.

            The night was overcast and very dark. The street lamps had been out for several weeks in Little Whinging, lost in some explosion the previous week. These explosions had been occurring with alarming frequency of late; power plants, bridges, and more gas lines than Dudley could count. The papers were abuzz with rumors of organized terrorist attacks but nothing had been found yet. 

            Dudley tipped his head back and finished the first beer, silently cursing his father's penchant for lite brews. He cast the bottle over his shoulder, listening to it crash to the ground behind him with some satisfaction. Just then, a cold breeze picked up, and Dudley shivered. Nights like these, when it was dark and a little chilly, he had trouble not remembering the time Harry had attacked him two summers before. The little freak had put some crazy jinx on him, and he felt worse for ten minutes than he ever had in his life. The memory of that night still haunted him when he walked alone after dark, and he usually tried to get someone else to walk with him. Not for the first time, he wished that he had beaten the Potter Boy to the death when they were kids, before that giant showed up with his nonsense and his evil umbrella.  

            Within a few minutes, he arrived at the Polkiss residence, stopping at the trash bin in front just long enough to deposit the second empty bottle. He walked around to the back door, and banged heavily on it until Stewart answered the door. Stewart was a skinny kid, a year younger than the rest of Dudley's friend. He had just joined the group recently, and as such was the bottom rung of the hierarchy.

            "Goddamnit, what took you so long?" Dudley growled, giving Stewart a half-playful shove in the chest that sent the younger boy against the open door. "Been waiting nearly 2 minutes!"

            "Sorry, Dudley," Stewart apologized, looking down at his feet. He stepped into the house and then made room for Dudley to pass him. 

            "Heh. Jackass." Dudley let his voice trail off as he walked into the house. The Polkiss residence was in a state of disrepair to say the best, although "shambles" seemed a little more appropriate. Laundry, both dirty and clean ("clean" being a relative term in this household), was scattered about, hanging over open doors, rumpled in piles inside baskets, or just strewn loosely about the floor. Every trashcan was overflowing, the contents spilling out into a wide arc around the bin. Every surface visible in the house was covered in a hodgepodge of random items; bits of paper, empty beer cans, old photographs, and so on. _My wife will do a much better job of keeping the place tidy. And if she ever tries to run off on me? It'll be the last mistake she ever makes_. 

Dudley entered into the living room of Piers' family, where the usual gang had collected. They were, predictably, lounging about on the couch, watching television. The living room was just as trashed as the rest of the house. Dudley could remember this room before Pier's mother had left. Where paintings of the family had previously hung were only bare walls, with an odd few unsightly stains breaking up the monotony. The television was the only light source in the room, casting the whole room in a shade of electric blue. 

There had also been more chairs previously – now all eight of the youth were crammed onto and around a beaten up sofa. There was a pile of nearly thirty beer bottles sitting beside the edge of the coffee table, and most all of them filled with cigarette butts and ash-filled beer dregs.

Dudley waded through the mass of bodies until he reached the center of the couch. Once there, he reached in and yanked Piers to his feet, taking his spot.

"Hey! I live here!" Piers protested.

"That'll teach ya!" Dudley cackled. "Somebody get me a beer. Stewart!"

"Teach me what?" Piers demanded. Stewart, meanwhile, turned around and went back to the kitchen to fetch the desired beverage.

"To be smaller than me, slapdick." Dudley and his other cronies began laughing at this. Piers was forced to perch on the armrest at the side of the sofa.

"What's all this on tv?" Dudley asked, annoyed.

"You didn't hear?" Rufus said incredulously.

"Hear what? I just got up!" Dudley retorted.

"The Prime Minister is dead!" 

"What?"

"Yep. They found his body this morning."

"Was he… killed?" Dudley asked, oddly fascinated. 

"They don't know. They think he was poisoned, but they haven't found any evidence of it yet. It's like he… just stopped living, somehow."

"Bizarre…" Dudley breathed, smiling widely.

"Hey, isn't that what happened to that old lady in our neighborhood?" Stewart spoke up suddenly, returning to the room, Dudley's beer in hand, which had been freshly raided from Mr. Polkiss' collection.

"You mean Mrs. Figg?"

"Yeah. I was there the day the ambulance picked her up," Stewart said in a small voice. It was evident that he was not accustomed to speaking so much. "Said they couldn't find anything wrong with her. Said she just died."

Dudley appeared to contemplate this for a second, then reached up and cuffed Stewart sharply on the back of his head. "Dumbass! Mrs. Figg was old! She probably just, y'know, fell over and broke her neck."

Stewart rubbed the back of his head to ease the stinging. "She wasn't that old," he muttered.

"What's that?" Dudley asked, not hearing.

"I said she wasn't that old. Besides, something like that would have left a mark, a sign of struggle, some kind of clue!"

"I said she was old, nitwit!" Dudley exclaimed.

"I'm not a nitwit," Stewart mumbled.

Dudley could hardly believe his ears. This little twerp, all 110 pounds of him, was defying him. It was bad enough that the little freak who claimed to be his cousin would defy him but this new kid would have to taught some respect. "WHAT?" Dudley got to his feet and towered over the younger kid, chest poked out and face turning red with rage. All of his cronies started making oohs and aahs, seeing a thrashing coming, and thankful they would not be on the receiving end. 

"I'm not a nitwit."

The imbecile clearly lacked the sense to shut up. "You are, if I say you are." Dudley cuffed him upside the head again.

"Stop that," the kid muttered. 

"What are you going to do about it?" Dudley asked, slapping the kid on the other side, this time on the ear. 

Stewart's fist shot out suddenly from his side, burying itself in Dudley's ample midsection. Dudley exhaled forcibly, all the wind rushing out of him. He doubled over in pain, and then lunged for the neck of white-faced, scrawny Stewart. Stewart tried to dodge, but could not get away completely. Dudley's fingers caught on the tail of Stewart's shirt, and he started to pull the smaller youth toward him. Stewart resisted for a moment, then changed his mind, and slammed his body against Dudley.

Dudley, already off balance, toppled over on his back with a loud cracking noise. Stewart was on top of him, throwing weak punches to Dudley's face. Horrible, sickening, pain streamed up Dudley's back. He tried to cough, but only choked up a mouthful of blood, which ran down his face. 

Stewart's face contorted at the sight of that much blood, and he rolled off of Dudley, scraping his knee on a piece of broken glass on the floor. Dudley, though, got the worst of it. He had had the horrible misfortune of landing directly on top of the pile of beer bottles, which had been smashed completely by his bodyweight. He struggled to a sitting position, shards of glass poking out of his entire back and the underside of his arms. Blood flowed profusely from thousands of gashes in his skin, and before he knew it, he passed out cold, right back on top of the pile of broken bottles.

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**September 20, 1997**. "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" Vernon Dursley's voice boomed across his yard.

_Great timing, Pops. Just in time to see them cart me off. _Dudley was, in fact lying face down in Petunia's scorched front lawn. In truth, the landscaping in general had suffered from the departure of that dark-haired menace, but Dudley welcomed the change. It was an unremarkable Saturday in Dudley's life; five minutes previously he had been sprawled out on the lawn chair, drinking a beer and calling to the girls that happened by. He had not had much luck with them, no matter how often he whistled or made a cat call. _Girls make no sense_. 

All of a sudden, a squad car had arrived on the scene and two eager officers bounded out, pointing their guns at Dudley and barking orders. He was laid out on his front quickly, and they were pulling his arms behind his back for the cuffs when his parents burst through the front door.

"Your son is under arrest for the murder of Stewart Fitzsimmons," came the reply from one of the officers; the one not occupied by cuffing Dudley.

"That's preposterous!" Vernon declared, shaking his fist at the cop.

"We have eight witness who saw an altercation between them several weeks ago, and three witnesses who say he was planning to do it," the cop answered, apparently concerned that Vernon would in fact hit him. 

            "Dudders wouldn't hurt a fly!" Petunia shireked, tears beginning to stream down from her eyes. _Stupid woman._

            "The Fitzsimmons buy was found this morning, stabbed seven times, twice in the back," the second officer countered.

            "It can't be…" Petunia sobbed. "Dudley, what have you done? Dudley, why are you laughing?"

            _Don't you get it, woman? Stewart thought he'd had the last laugh; but now I do._


	3. The Darkest Hour: Minerva McGonagall

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.**

Dark Days: Minerva McGonagall

**September 15, 1997**. Minerva had fought it, of course: it went against everything she had ever believed in. The letter came two weeks into the school term, and Albus brought it to her attention immediately. 

It was late, nearly one in the morning. She had been sitting alone in the Staff Room, grading some fourth year written exams with some aggravation. Dennis Creevey's grasp of Transfiguration often reminded her painfully of Neville Longbottom's early work. She finished with a flourish of red ink and turned her attention out the window, where a great storm was raging. Rainwater washed down the panes of the window in streams, having long ago abandoned the convention of "drops". Slices of lightning knifed through the sky, bringing an electric shimmer to the countryside. A few seconds later, thunder struck so forcefully that the castle shook with it.

She had once heard a Muggle explanation of the phenomenon of lightning. It was, of course, rather complicated, involving "electrons", which was a part of a very open branch of knowledge (in the nonmagical world) known as Atomic Theory, of which she had but an inkling. For someone who had spent her entire life among witches and wizards, Minerva McGonagall was surprisingly informed about Muggle Science. She had never bothered to take Muggle Studies, although she had always felt she could teach one, if brought to it. She often ruminated on the difference between Muggles and Magical-folk. It seemed to her that Muggles and Wizards sought the same goal; the control of their environment. What differed between the two groups was only the approaches they took. Muggles preferred to dissect and analyze until they felt they understood. Then, they would apply their science to controlling the subject, through electronics, chemicals, or computers, in a way that was separate from themselves. Wizards, on the other hand, employed the powers within themselves (mediated through a wand) to directly affect change their surroundings. Minerva wondered which approach she would have taken, if she had been given a choice. 

She was interrupted from her reverie by the sudden arrival of the headmaster. "Minerva," he said quietly, once she had opened the door. "I have disquieting news."

"What is it, Albus?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper. She searched her memory for a time when he had come to her so urgently in the middle of the night, but came up with nothing. 

"It seems that our most gifted student is more knowledgeable than we had been aware of," Albus said. "At least, that is, in the eyes of the Minister of Magic. Cornelius Fudge has this evening sent me an owl notifying me that Harry is to graduate Hogwarts this Friday."

"What? Harry? But that's preposterous! There's no way he…"

"Cornelius expressed his conviction that the Boy has learned everything he'll need to know here."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Perhaps. I cannot argue that Harry is gifted; there's little left in our curriculum that he has not yet mastered. Although, I will concede, that I do not believe that matters much to Fudge."

"Really, Albus? What do you mean?"

"I fear that he has gotten word, in spite of our best intentions, of the events that transpired at the Weasley home last month."

"Oh, wow…" Minerva had to sit down. Fudge could not care less about the education of The Boy Who Lived. He had merely gotten wind of a powerful soldier against the Deatheaters who was not yet in his employ.

"So what are you going to do? How will you defy the Minister of Magic."

"I intend to graduate Harry, as ordered."

"You can't be serious, Albus! This is insane!"

"I fear that it is inappropriate, in light of Harry's personal educational needs. However, I also have made an important realization, Minerva: he may be our only hope in these Dark Days."

Minerva felt the need to sit down, and then realized that she had never left her seat to begin with. The chair was still underneath her, the heavy oak table still before her, and the pile of graded exams still sat, ready to break the hearts of Dennis Creevey and his peers the next day. _Can we really put all of our hopes on one boy? _She had heard the prophecy of course, but even so it seemed so outlandish.

It was evident that fairness to the boy was irrelevant; if he was indeed the last hope of the magical world, and maybe the Muggle one as well, then they could be forgiven for ruining his education. _In fact, we might be obligated to do so. _

Albus, sensing that the conversation had come to an end, turned to leave. 

"Albus!" Minerva cried out.

The aged headmaster stopped and turned back around, a look of curiosity on his lined face. "Yes, Minerva?"

"You can't let them take Harry. Even if you must graduate him, we have to keep him at Hogwarts. There's no safer place for him than here," she said. It was her last argument.

Albus Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard in the world. It was his strength that held together the Order. It was his wisdom that kept Hogwarts afloat. It was his courage that gave home to the magical community. He always wore a look of quiet confidence, and never seemed surprised, even by the most unusual events. When his face fell at her statement, Minerva went cold all over. "At any point in the last six years, Minerva, I would have agreed with you. It has always been the case that this building is a rampart, virtually insurmountable to any outside threat. This remains the case. The problem, I fear, is that the threat is no longer just outside our walls."

Minerva said nothing, imploring him to continue with her silence.

"I should also have told you that I expelled a student tonight, for the first time in all my years as headmaster. Her name was Gloria Windsong, a sweet young girl from Ravenclaw. Filch found her two hours ago, waiting beside the portrait of the Fat Lady. She was apparently trying to gain entrance to the Gryffindor common room with her wand, a small knife, and a bottle of elaborate poison. Veritaserum confirmed what I had already guessed; she had been sent by Lord Voldemort to kill Harry Potter."

Minerva opened her mouth to voice her outrage, but no words came. 

"Nor do I doubt that she is the last student here under the sway of the Dark Lord. We have reached a frightening new age at Hogwarts; the greatest threat to this school might be the students themselves. You see Minerva, I fear that to keep Harry here is to invite his death."

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

**September 19, 1997**. Minerva knocked twice on the heavy oak door, paused a second, then three times more. A gruff voice from the other side called back to her: "What's the password?"

"Vinny sent me," she enunciated clearly. She was standing in a dark alleyway in the heart of London. Since the Death of Sirius Black more than a year ago, the Order of the Phoenix had moved their home base to a warehouse that had long since been abandoned.  

"Vinny? Never heard of 'im," the voice replied.

Minerva lost what little patience she had. "Yeah, well, he sent me anyway. Mad-Eye, when I get to the other side of this door, I'm going to hex you into next Thursday!"

"Heh, Minerva! I never can be too careful, you know."

"Yes, I know – Constant Vigilance!" she practically screamed. 

"That's my girl!" the voice came back. She heard him mutter the counter-charm and a heavy bolt slid out of the way a second later. He opened the door timidly, as if expecting the proffered hexing.

She considered it. If she did decide to curse the insane former auror, there would be time to do so later. For now, there was business to attend to. "Is everyone here yet?"

Mad-Eye eyed her warily for a second, as if trying to rid his mind of the possibility that she was an impostor. Giving up on he, he gestured for her to go first down the narrow hall. 

_Probably has some rule about not turning your back on someone who's just threatened to hex you – no matter whether in jest or not. Constant Vigilance! _Minerva suppressed a giggle, but started off down the long corridor anyway.

Moody started scratching his head audibly. "Let's see… the Weasleys are here already. **All **of 'em." Moody growled the last part. He still was not very pleased about the inclusion of Fred and George in the Order. Mrs. Weasley could not restrain her twins from joining, but had so far kept her youngest two out, even though they were of age. "Fletcher, Lupin, Vance, and Jones are here, of course. Tonks and Podmore are out on a mission, so they won't be joining us. Shacklebolt's, uh… Crud, where did… Oh, yeah. Well, Kingsley won't be joinin' us I guess," Moody chuckled nervously. 

Minerva grimaced. She did not envy Mad-Eye; she knew that he had lived longand been through many a rough time. He was getting older; no doubt about it, and his memory was going. He had trouble remembering who was alive and who was dead. _Poor, tragic man._

"No sign of Snape, Flitwick or Hagrid," Moody went on. "But I wouldn't be surprised if they all arrived with the Big Man. Quite a few are missing, yet, but it's still early."

He led her into the meeting room of the Order, a giant room that had been built to accommodate roughly a hundred people. The size of the room only served to emphasize the limits of their team; roughly two-dozen witches and wizards were congregated in the room, their voices echoing off the distant walls. 

In the far corner, she spotted the guest of honor for that evenings meeting. Gauging by Moody's sudden grunt, he had as well. Igor Karkaroff stood in front of a long table, with three of his students sitting next to him. Standing immediately to his left was Viktor Krum, Quidditch star and one time Triwizard Competitor. With a dismissive nod toward Moody, she made her way over to them.

"Good evening, Igor," Minerva said, her voice thick with professional detachment.

Karkaroff stroked his goatee thoughtfully, sizing her up. "Minerva," he said in acknowledgement, his unctuous voice emotionless.

"And Mr. Krum," she said, turning her attention momentarily the dark-haired Bulgarian. "How are all of you these days?"

Not surprisingly, Karkaroff spoke for all of them. "We are alive, which is enough to be thankful for. I regret to say that Durmstrang has been sacked," he said, his voice displaying a hint of fear. "The Deatheaters attacked us just yesterday. Sadly, many among our students and faculty betrayed us in favor of the Dark Lord. Those few that were loyal put up a good fight, but we were hopelessly outnumbered."

Minerva frowned. She had already heard the major details of this tale from Dumbledore the previous evening, when the headmaster had received an urgent owl from Karkaroff. She waited in silence until he continued.

"These," he began again, gesturing with a wave to Krum and the three students. "We're the only ones who escaped. Those that remain are either prisoners or loyal to the Dark Lord."

Minerva nodded. This was dire news indeed. "Tell me, Igor. How long do you think it will be before He tries to attack Hogwarts? How strong are his forces? How many are loyal to him?"

Karkaroff frowned. "I can say that a good number of my students and faculty are in his power, several hundred at the least. The force of Deatheaters that attacked was formidable as well, maybe as many as a hundred. We never had a chance." Karkaroff grimaced, gritting his teeth in frustration. "I can only tell you that he has the forces necessary to mount a large-scale assault whenever it pleases him to do so. As to his plans, I cannot say. I… is that? It is!"

Minerva turned to see what had captured his attention. The entire room had fallen into a hushed silence, their attention focused on the newest arrival to the meeting. Standing in the doorway from which she had emerged just minutes before, clutching a few bags under one arm and a broomstick in his other hand, was Harry Potter.

He turned his gaze around the large room, absorbing the stares of the Order with quiet patience. Little by little, the other witches and wizards returned to their previous conversations, the low drone of voices starting again. Harry made eye contact with Minerva and began heading her way. As he walked, most of the room watched him, trying not to be overly obvious.

"Professor McGonagall," Harry said loudly as he approached. "Good to see you."

"Yes, Harry, you as well. Although I must admit that I'm a little surprised to see you here. Professor Dumbledore didn't mention any thing about it to me. The last I heard, you were heading to the Ministry to start your career as the world's youngest auror."

Harry nodded understandingly, a slight smile playing across his face. "Yes, I imagine Minister Fudge is a little upset about that. Dumbledore was forced to graduate me, but he gave me my choice: report to the Ministry as expected, or join the Order of the Phoenix. It was hardly a tough decision for me."

Minerva nodded, a sensation of relief flooding through her. It was soothing just to see him there, in the flesh, far away from the designs of the Minister of Magic. It was true that Fudge had admitted the return of the Dark Lord, and had allied the Ministry with the Order in defeating him. However, the relationship between the two groups was somewhat shaky. Fudge still suspected the headmaster of trying to gain power, and all but forbade his employees from enlisting in the Order. There were many, like Kingsley Shacklebolt, who participated with the Order while holding jobs with the Ministry, but there were still better things for one's career there than having their name mentioned in the same breath with Dumbledore's. 

 _So Dumbledore never intended to hand him over to Fudge. _

Harry turned to acknowledge the others present. "Professor Karkaroff," he said curtly, shaking hands firmly with the older man. 

"Mr. Potter," Karkaroff said simply, seeming not in the least pleased by his presence.

"Viktor. How are you?" Harry sounded much warmer to his peer. 

"I am vell," Viktor replied, his voice thick with accent. "How about you? And Hermy-ninny? And Ron?"

Harry laughed out loud. "Last I saw her, 'Mione and Ron were both well."

A shout from across the room took their attention away suddenly. Against the near wall, a man had just emerged from the fireplace, courtesy of the Floo network. He had emerged from the fireplace screaming, and dropped down on his knees in front of the startled Order.

"Snape! What is it, man?" Moody demanded.

Snape raised his eyes to face the ex-Auror, brushing black hair out of his face in a state of near panic. "The Dark Lord has attacked Hogwarts!"

Muffled screams followed his dire pronouncement. The members of the Order glanced about each nervously, not sure how to react.

"What happened, Severus?" Minerva shouted out over the din of frightened murmurs.

Professor Snape went on, his lip quivering as he spoke. "Professor Flitwick and I were accompanying Dumbledore to Hagrid's home. We were all going to arrive together… Just as we got there, a dozen or so Deatheaters emerged from the Forbidden Forest, among them He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Dumbledore sent me here to gather the forces, but things look bad. There were many of the Dark Lord's servants, and I fear the worst!"

Silence fell on the Order. They stared at Professor Snape in a state of disbelief. Several seconds passed in this way, before a young voice behind Minerva shouted out: "We have to go rescue him!"

Harry.

"Right!" Mundungus Fletcher shouted. "We'll all Apparate inside of Hagrid's home!"

Moody, standing directly behind him, cuffed Fletcher on his right ear. "Imbecile! You can't Apparate onto Hogwarts' grounds!"

Arthur Weasley took the next step, rather than simply speak it. He kissed his wife on her cheek swiftly, and then grabbed the bag of Floo powder on top of the mantel. He threw a handful of the dust into the fire, and proclaimed "Hagrid's Hut!" in a loud voice, and then disappeared into the flames. Behind him, the other members of the Order got in line to follow him.

Minerva's mind swirled with tactics. They had no way of knowing what awaited them in the hut; for all they knew they would be killed immediately upon arrival. Even so, it would take several precious minutes to get everyone there one at a time. 

"Let's go!" Harry shouted from Minerva's side. For all of his enthusiasm, she could not mistake the note of fear in his voice.

"Harry!" she hissed in her best no-nonsense voice. "You are not to go into that fire under any circumstances! You are not prepared for this battle, not yet. Do you understand me, Potter?"

Harry looked at her with a mixture of anger and relief. "Yes."

"I will remain behind and ensure that the boys don't go through," Karkaroff offered.

_Coward_. "Yes, that's for the best," Minerva said. Without another word, she strode purposefully over to the fireplace, and quickly disappeared into the green flames.

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**September 19, 1997. **Minerva was the fourth person through the fireplace. When she arrived in Hagrid's cozy domicile, Arthur and Molly Weasley were already peering out of the front window, and Moody was inspecting a giant body sprawled across the floor. Minerva felt ice stab through her heart. Hagrid. Likely dead before the Deatheaters had ambushed Dumbledore. 

Moody looked up with, a grim expression on his beaten face. "Been dead for half an hour, I'd guess," he announced. When he noticed Minerva, he spoke again. "Alright, no sense in putting it off any longer. Let's get out there!"

Arthur turned to Minerva. "The fight appears to be some fifty yards away, back towards the castle. I think we'll be safe when we emerge… for a moment, at least."

"Good enough," Minerva breathed. "Follow me." She strode past the Weasley and out the front door of Hagrid's hut and into the lethal night. Within seconds, Minerva's world broke apart.

Albus Dumbledore stood in the middle of an open field, clutching a shimmering white shield to his chest, his wand poking out from behind it. Sitting on his shoulder was an infant version of Fawkes the Phoenix, who had obviously been the recent recipient of a killing curse aimed at the Headmaster. Far above the scene was the last thing one expected to see at Hogwarts – the Dark Mark.

Directly in front of him, flanked by two hooded Deatheaters was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, laughing shrilly. He wore flowing robes of green and white, carrying in his hands a staff and his wand. His thin, serpentine face was twisted into an ugly smile.  

All around Dumbledore were scattered dead bodies. In an instant, Minerva recognized Professor Flitwick, Firenze the centaur, Argus Filch, and Professor Sinistra -- all staring up into the sky with lifeless eyes. The bodies of a few Deatheaters dotted the perimeter of the scene, but the numbers revealed a rout in favor of the Dark Lord.

All around Dumbledore swooped ten or so Deatheaters on broomsticks, throwing hexes at him. He had animated several stone gargoyles (likely from on top of the castle) to aid in his defense, and they had stood behind him, exploding when hit by powerful hexes. The number of these had apparently dwindled significantly, as two gargoyles trudged about in a deep pile of broken stone.

Before Minerva even had time to join in the fray, a harmful spell slipped through Dumbledore's rear defenses, hitting him directly between the shoulder blades. Minerva unleashed a horrified scream as the headmaster was knocked off of his feet, losing both his wand and shield. He landed face first in the dirt, hard. 

Behind her, the Order of the Phoenix jumped into action, attacking the swirling Deatheaters. Minerva merely watched, transfixed and unable to move. Dumbledore struggled to his knees, merely feet in front of the Dark Lord. Without preamble, without sinister words, without even gloating, the Dark Lord raised his wand and uttered the horrible words: "Avada Kedavra!"

The bolt of green energy from his wand tip hit Dumbledore in between his eyes. It was as though lightning struck the spot where he lay; a pulse of white light shot out from his body, passing through the grounds immediately. In its wake, his body disappeared. 

_Albus…_

Minerva found herself able to move again. Raising her wand, she started attacking the Deatheaters at random, sending out the Killing Curse without a second thought. Her spells went wide from their intended marks; the Deatheaters continued to swirl far overhead from their brooms, showering the scene in a volley of return fire. Minerva dove for the ground just in time to avoid her own death. She got to her feet and sprinted back to the side of the hut, seeking refuge with her compatriots from the overwhelming opponents. 

The Dark Lord gestured to the two Deatheaters beside him, who joined the fight for the first time. He raised his wand again, repeating his previous words. Minerva followed the path of the spell and watched Molly Weasley topple over in the middle of her run to the relative safety. Beside her, Arthur Weasley screamed out, a voice ragged with disbelief and pain.

Overhead, the flying Deatheaters formed up into a thick knot, and then split in half as they descended on the hut. Minerva shoved Mundungus and Arthur through the open door, understanding the vulnerability of their position. Far behind her she heard a chorus of shouts: "OBLIVIATE!"

A volley of red lights hit the oncoming Deatheaters, several of which fell off their brooms. Minerva whirled around to see a V of broom-riders coming in from the Forbidden Forest, wands outstretched. With a wave of terror, she recognized Harry Potter at the forefront. _If he too is lost…_ She could not let herself think of it. 

The cavalry let off another round of spells, felling most of the rest of the attacking Deatheaters. She noticed, with grim satisfaction, that all the spells coming from the V were red, save that from the front, which was an unmistakable green.

The Dark Lord raised his wand, sending out a shower of green sparks, clearly a signal for retreat. Only two Deatheaters were still on their brooms, and they quickly broke off their attack. They landed amongst the heap of their unconscious comrades, and began pulling them together. Another green energy bolt came from over her head, knocking one of them dead. The other dropped himself on top of the pile of Deatheaters, and – pulling some small object out of his robes – vanished with the rest of them. _A portkey!_

The Dark Lord and his two remaining Deatheaters followed suit, and all of the sudden the grounds were as still and quiet as death. 

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**September 19, 1997**. "Harry Potter! I told you to stay behind!" Minerva's fingers shook as she scolded the 17-year-old. They stood inside Hagrid's hut, beside a kettle of steaming hot water. The body of Hagrid had been removed, with difficulty, and added to the collection. Outside, the Order worked on collecting the bodies of their fallen comrades. Minerva had asked them to see to this while she had a word with The Boy-Who-Lived. 

"Well, technically, you told me not to go through the fireplace, and we didn't," he told her, looking unconcerned.

"That's not the point, the point is…" Minerva stopped herself, a curious possibility occurring to her. "Well, then how did you get here?"

"We Apparated. The twins and Viktor and his friends and a few members of the Order and I all grabbed brooms and Apparated to the far side of the Forest, just outside the anti-apparation field, and we flew in from there."

"Since when do you know how to Apparate?" she asked. She wondered if she might need to have a parallel talk with Fred and George Weasley.

Harry's eyes strayed to the place on the ground where Hagrid had lain. He was silent for a moment, as if fighting off the urge to cry. "We figured it out over the summer at Ron's. Before…before I left there. It seemed like something me might need to know."

Minerva checked her amazement and returned to scolding the boy. "The point is that you knew you were supposed to remain behind, and you came anyway, directly disobeying the spirit of my command."

Harry shot her a look of hostility, his eyes gleaming with an intensity she had never seen before. "Yes, you're right. So, what are you going to do? Take ten points from Gryffindor?" The words came out of his mouth heavy with sarcasm and anger. 

Minerva sighed, not sure for a second how to respond. "I know, Harry. It was wrong of them to take you away from Hogwarts." _You're still just a child, don't you see that? _"And while I may no longer be your Professor, I may… I may just be the new leader of the Order of the Phoenix."

Her words hit home. He looked at the ground again, no less angry but no longer arguing. 

"And you will be of no use to us if you don't act more responsibly, and take direct orders," she said softly. "The stunt you pulled today was foolish. It's lucky you weren't all killed."

"Sorry, Professor, but if it weren't for my stunt today, **you** would have been killed."

Minerva's face twitched, musing that this was not the way her lectures were supposed to go. He had a point. "Yes, you might be right. But your death would have been a far more severe blow to our cause than mine. So, for all future operations, you must listen to me."

Harry considered this for a moment, his face unreadable. "I'll make you a deal, Professor."

_A deal? _"What sort of deal, Harry?"

"I will agree to listen to what you say, to stay out of it when you command so, but you have to treat me with respect, like any other member of the Order," he said, his face glowing with determination. He started again, his voice softer. "I think we both know what this war is going to come down to. I think I've earned the right to participate in the battles of the Order. I… don't want to be coddled anymore."

Minerva eyes played with her. She looked at the young man in front of her: all of 17 years old, an early graduate from school, the weight of their lives on his shoulders. All she could see, though, was the nervous first-year she had dragged through the corridors after his first flying lesson, intent on making him the youngest seeker to play for Gryffindor in a century. It was so many years ago that it seemed like another lifetime. The angry youth before her seemed like another person altogether, only vaguely resembling the terrified youth riding a broom for the first time on the grounds outside the school. _How much he's grown…_

"Very well, Mr. Potter," she agreed, all of her heart wanting to tell him no. It was unthinkable that at his age these weighty problems were given to him to solve. "That being the case, I recommend you go outside and assist the others in cleaning this mess up."

Harry nodded, seeming a little surprised that he had achieved his goal in the conversation. "Will do, professor." 

"You might as well refer to me as Minerva, now. I'm not your Professor anymore," she pointed out.

Harry considered this. "If it's all the same to you, I'll stick with `professor'. The other doesn't sound right, somehow."

"As you please, Mr. Potter."

He turned toward the door, ready to begin his duties as the newest member to the Order of the Phoenix. 

"Harry?" she called after him, on an impulse.

"Yes, Professor?" he hesitated, his hand on the door.

"Who authorized your use of the Killing Curse?" she asked, her voice hard and serious.

Harry looked back at her, defiance shining in his eyes. "Who? Voldemort."

For the life of her, she could not press the issue. Not on the day when their leader fell to the hand of the enemy. Not on the day when Arthur Weasley lost his wife. Not on the day when the Boy-Who-Lived put his foot down. Not on that horrible, dark day.

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**September 19, 1997. **_Albus, why did you forsake us in our darkest hour?_ Minerva strode outside to discover that most of the wreckage had been cleared away, and quite a crowd had gathered. The entire Order was now present: even Tonks and Podmore had returned from their mission in time to arrive at the scene. Several members of the staff from the school were now present, including Madame Hooch and Madame Pomfrey, who was sobbing hysterically. 

The bodies of Sinistra, Vector, Filch, Flitwick, and Molly Weasley had been laid reverently beside that of Hagrid, their arms crossed over their chests. The members of the Order stood around them mostly in silence, save for Arthur, who was weeping loudly on his knees. Bill, Fred, and George stood next to him, trying vainly to console their father. 

Something shifted in Minerva's stomach and she fought of the urge to cry herself. _Now is not the time. Not in front of them_. Then, she noticed something that quite distracted her. Harry was standing behind the Weasley trio, and sitting on his shoulder was a small red bird. She strode over directly.

"Harry! Why do you have the headmasters' bird?" she demanded.

Harry gave her a look that suggested that Fawkes was not the most pressing issue at present. "I don't know. He just… came to me, and sat on my shoulder. What do you want me to do with him?"

Minerva shrugged; putting in order the possessions of Professor Dumbledore was not on top of her priority list. "Just… hold on to him for the present, Harry. I'll deal with that later." She raised her voice and addressed the Order, gathered around her in silence. "I will leave you in charge of burying our fallen comrades. Unless you have a preference, they are to be buried here in front of Hagrid's home, where a memorial shall be erected to mark this dire event."

The Order seemed content with her words, and several of them began working on the project. She turned to Harry, and said in a lowered voice. "Potter, you're with me." She began walking off toward the school, her feet heavy. 

Seeming a little surprised, Harry nonetheless followed her obediently, after tenderly squeezing the shoulder of Arthur Weasley. They walked back to the castle in silence. Within minutes they were entering the great front doors to the old school, and Minerva stopped to address her companion.

"Harry, I'm heading up to Dumbledore's office to set some things in order and send some owls. You are to go directly up to Gryffindor tower, and summon Ron and Ginny Weasley. The new password is `Vigilance'. Please remember that it is not your place to pass on the bad news to them; that is a family affair. Merely take them outside to rejoin their families. I understand that you will want to be with the Weasleys during this time, but you must leave as soon as you have completed this task. The Minister of Magic will likely be here within the hour, and you should not be here when he arrives, or else I fear that you may not see the Weasleys for a long time indeed. Do you understand? "

Harry pondered this for a second and then nodded. He did not seem pleased with his unhappy duty, but set off immediately.

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**September 20, 1997. **Minerva awoke early in the morning to a knocking at the door. She was disoriented for a second. She had apparently fallen asleep at Dumbledore's desk, and was a moment in remembering why. A glance at the parchments in front of her brought the tragic evening back, all in a rush. 

 She had been working late into the night, sending and receiving owls. Cornelius Fudge did not show up in person, as she had expected, but sent several Aurors to survey the scene and then to harass her on the location of Harry -- threatening censure, removal from Hogwarts, and even imprisonment. She had dealt with them sternly, in a way she had hoped that Albus would have been proud of. 

The knocking persisted. Minerva took a second to gather herself, and then strode over to the staircase and down the steps to the door. She opened the door to find Ginny Weasley, her eyes bloodshot and her flowing red hair unkempt. 

"Weasley! What is it?" she demanded, her voice hoarse and impatient.

"I need to speak with you," the trembling young girl said simply, her voice tremulous. 

"I intend to address the entire student body at breakfast about the events of last night," Minerva replied in a businesslike tone. "I will be happy to answer any questions you still have thereafter."

"It isn't that, Professor. I have something to tell you," Ginny persisted.

"Is it urgent?"

"Isn't everything these days?"

"Indeed," Minerva replied, her voice losing its edge involuntarily. "Come on in." She led the young girl up the staircase and back into the Headmaster's office. She passed the now-empty stoop for Fawkes, and sat behind the desk. "What is it, Ginny?"

Ginny, now seated opposite her, squirmed uncomfortably. "On the first day of school, I went to see Professor Trelawney. I was... upset about Charlie, and I was hoping she might tell me what the future held for my family."

Minerva said nothing, already guessing where this conversation would lead, but seethed on the inside. _Lunatic old crack-pot…_

"She went all crazy-eyed and started speaking in a funny voice. She told me that…" Ginny stifled a small cry, clearly still suffering from the most recent loss. The girl pushed that down, and went on with difficulty. "She told me that more in my family would die, and she was right about that. In fact, she told me that a lot of horrible things would happen, like the destruction of `hallowed institutions', and she was right about that, too. Harry told me that Durmstrang had been taken. She told me that Dumbledore would be the only one who could kill the Dark Lord, that Harry couldn't do it."

Minerva's eyes went wide, but she held her tongue.

"Which is why I'm here. I… I'm afraid for Harry. I think that now that Professor Dumbledore is, uh, gone… that You-Know-Who is unstoppable. I'm afraid that The Order will make Harry confront him, and…" Ginny's voice deteriorated into a wrack of sobs, unable to contain her grief and fear.

"And The Dark Lord will kill him?" Minerva supplied.

Ginny, no longer able to speak, looked up at her with crying eyes and nodded. 

"Well, Ginny, you should know that I put absolutely no stock in the opinions of Professor Trelawney. I have said on many occasions that Divination is a difficult and approximate study. It isn't my place to criticize my fellow teachers, but I think that Professor Trelawney is… well, a glittery, self-important fraud. I strongly urge you not to take any stock in her prophecy."

Ginny had stopped crying, and seemed quite relieved by her words.

"As for Harry, I can assure you that his safety has been and will continue to be my utmost concern. I certainly will not allow anyone to force him into a confrontation with the Dark Lord." _Except, possibly, himself_. 

Minerva sent Ginny away shortly thereafter, having eased most of the young Gryffindors concerns but none of her own._ Albus, why did you forsake us in our darkest hour?_


	4. Rite of Passage: Neville Longbottom

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.**

Dark Days: Neville Longbottom

            **October 11, 1997**. Neville Longbottom was walking to the library with Luna Lovegood after a pleasant lunch on an unremarkable Saturday afternoon,. It had been nearly a month since Albus Dumbledore had died at the hands of You-Know-Who, and the school was still showing the signs. The students walked everywhere in a daze, jumping at every noise and fearing every shadow. It was as if they expected the Deatheaters to burst in and attack at any moment. Many students had, in fact, been pulled from the school altogether by frightful parents, including Seamus Finnigan, one of Neville's fellow Gryffindor seventh years.

            Professor McGonagall had taken over duties as Headmaster "for the interim" (in the words of the Decree from Cornelius Fudge), although it was not clear how long a time that indicated. Luscious Malfoy had submitted his application to take over the post the next fall, and the general sentiment was that he could get it, depending on the turnout of World Wizarding politics. 

Luna had promised to help him with a big essay he had to turn in Monday for History of Magic. Luna had assured him that she was an expert on the topic of Wizard-Centaur relations in the 17th century. But for the time being, their topic of conversation was far from academic.

            "Who are you kidding?" Luna shrieked, as if not believing her ears. "Ravenclaw got all of their players back from last year. We both know that Gryffindor wins only when they can keep Potter in the game. Now that he's gone, it's ours for the taking!"

            Neville smiled knowingly. Two years ago, Luna would have been hard-pressed to tell him what exactly a bludger was. Now, having been friends with avid fans of the Gryffindor team, she followed the game religiously. She usually rooted for Neville's team, right up until the point where they played against Luna's own house. The first game of the season, one week removed from that day, pitted the two houses in a rematch of the Championship game last season. Er, school year.

            On the inside, though, Luna's sports commentary made Neville cringe. The absence of The Boy-Who-Lived was a painful topic for Neville; the notion filled him with some terrible anxiety. He had known for years that the magical community was facing dark times, but Hogwarts remained an oasis within that insanity. So long as all the pieces were in place at school (the teachers, the lessons, Harry Potter), he could feel reasonable safe. Now that Harry had gone, Neville was faced with insecurity.

            "Are you doubting the prowess of Ginny Weasley? She's an excellent seeker!" Neville exclaimed in mock surprise. Neville always felt at ease with Luna, and what's more, as everyone else in the school could tell, he fancied the diminutive Ravenclaw in a way that was more than friendly.

            "No doubt about that," Luna giggled. She reached into her bag and produced a couple pieces of gum, one of which she offered to Neville. "Drooble's Best?" she asked, innocently enough.

            The sight of the Drooble's Blowing Gum wrapper, however, signified something other than chewing gum to him. Neville Longbottom's memory had been a source of embarrassment and ridicule for his entire life. He had a horrible head for numbers. His sense of direction was laughable. His ability to follow guidelines was so abysmal that it was a small wonder he could boil water, let alone pass a Potions exam. In fact his memory failed him by its deficiency in all categories save one, where it punished him with its tenacity. Of all the thoughts that roamed his subconscious mind, there was one memory he wished he could purge.

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **December 9, 1981**. Neville sat in his high chair at the edge of the table. In front of him loomed the round face of his mother, Alice Longbottom, who was busy trying to keep her blond bangs out of her eyes while feeding Neville. She made little wooshing noises with her mouth and moved the spoon in a tightening spiral into Neville's mouth. Her face was pink and happy; a smile was permanently painted on her face in those days.

            As Alice fed Neville, Frank Longbottom was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for their own dinner. He was tall and dark-haired, usually with a grave look on his handsome face. But that day, he was singing an utterly ridiculous song about boiling crabs, his face animated, and his voice full of laughter. They were all so happy in those days, ever since The Great Big Good News had come.

            They felt the house shudder as a concussive spell hit the front of the building.Copper pots flew off the wall and clattered noisily on the tile floor. Bits of plaster fell out of the ceiling. Stacks of plates fell out of the cabinets, shattering when they hit. In that instant, all tranquility, all joy was taken out of Neville's life. 

            Alice scooped Neville up immediately, and glanced around for a place to put him, finally setting him in the bottom shelf of a recently emptied cabinet on the far wall. Just as quickly, Frank seized his wand and went to the doorway leading to the living room and front door of their small home, without saying so much as a word. He had no sooner rounded the corner than a stunning spell hit him full in the chest, knocking him off his feet and sending his wand flying. Alice dove at the floor to retrieve it, but before she could lay hands on it, a witch in black robes appeared in the doorway and kicked Alice in the head, hard. Alice hit the ground, and then started rolling, trying to get away. 

The witch responded with another stunning spell. Three more dark wizards appeared behind her, wands out, faces menacing. The witch pushed her shiny black hair out of her face, and then slapped Frank hard in the face, until he awoke. "Where is Our Lord and Master?" she hissed.

Frank's eyes glanced around at the four faces before him, and then caught sight of his unconscious wife behind him. He kept looking around for his son, but could not locate him.

"Crucio," the woman breathed. Frank began screaming instantly, banging his fists on the tile floor, kicking his legs into the air, constantly squirming as if to avoid that spell. The witch towered over him, eyes cold and mean, her lips flushed red and smiling oddly. She stopped after a second, then asked again: "Where is the Dark Lord?"

Frank did not answer immediately, but tried to get his sobbing under control. When she was about to raise her wand again, he blurted out: "He's dead! You know he's dead!"

This was apparently not the answer she was looking for. "Barty, make sure the woman is secure," she breathed, her voice businesslike and unemotional. Then a nasty smile returned to her features. "Now, please understand me, Frank. We all know what you do for a living. What you might need to know is that we have all night open, andwould be happy to continue this…process until sunrise. So, why don't you save yourself and your wife a lot of trouble and divulge some Ministry secrets now?"

Frank's face was white and bloodless in terror. "I swear to you on my life, on all that I hold dear, that I believe the Dark Lord to be dead."

"Oh, Longbottom, you're hopeless," she sighed. "Crucio."

Frank's screams filled the night air. The four death Eaters towered over him, each employing their wands in his torture. They would stop every few minutes to ask him the same questions again. After a few hours, he was no longer able to answer. An hour after that, they turned on Alice, who had been left propped indelicately against the wall through the entire process, charmed by a Full-Body Bind. 

The door to the cabinet against the far wall was cracked opened slightly, and inside of its dark contents an infant sat watching the entire event with wide eyes.

                                    *                      *                      *                      *          

            **October 11, 1997.** "Neville? What's wrong?" Luna asked him, putting her left hand delicately to his cheek.     

            Neville was drawn from his reverie by her gentle touch. "Huh? No, I'm fine," he assured her. She did not look quite convinced, so he added quickly: "Just thinking about something else, that's all."

            Luna seemed to understand. This was perhaps the best quality to Luna, as far as Neville was concerned. The young girl from Ravenclaw could personally sympathize with a lot of the suffering he went through, since she had lost her mother when she was younger. He knew that her understanding of him went beyond their respective pasts, though: she knew who he was as a person, and genuinely cared for him in a way that could not be dismissed as simply "Having something in common".

            Just as a sense of general peace began to fill Neville, Draco Malfoy and his two cronies rounded the corner and nearly collided directly with them.

            "Watch where you're going, squib," Draco said coldly, stroking his blond hair. Draco Malfoy had taken to walking the halls in a proprietary manner; Neville was not the only one who felt the absence of Harry. He had taken to bullying the ranks of Gryffindor with his wand and his prefect badge. He had Crabbe and Goyle to back him up in the muscle department, and Professor Snape always upheld his abuses of authority. On any given day, the best way to deal with Malfoy was to avoid him. 

            "I'm no squib," Neville muttered. "Maybe you're just pissed because I've been getting better marks in Transfiguration, and Herbology, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, obviously."

            Draco's face turned into a nasty smile. "I'll concede that you're a better egghead than I'll ever be, squib, but how are your skills at dueling?" With this, Draco whipped his wand out of his robes and brandished it menacingly. Crabbe and Goyle laughed, feeling that they were in for a treat.

            "I guess there's one way to find out," Neville growled, drawing his own wand.

            "Oh, Neville, please don't…" Luna murmured, her plea falling on deaf ears.

            Fifteen minutes later, Luna had reason to feel that her warning was justified. She was in a Full-Body Bind, and stuck to the ceiling to boot. Neville ran about the empty corridor below madly, still suffering from the Tantallegra Hex. To be fair, Draco had cheated; while he squared off with Neville, Crabbe executed a spell correctly for about the third time in his career, and silenced Neville. Things went down hill from there.

            While the Slytherin bullies laughed riotously at their victims, Professor Snape appeared and took ten points out of the respective houses of Neville and Luna for "Horseplay in the corridors". Then, he calmly informed Draco of how much he had enjoyed his essay on Pain Potions in the sixteenth century, and departed.

            Ten minutes after Draco and his cronies left, Professor Vector happened upon them, and released them from their difficulties.

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **October 12, 1997**. Neville was still brooding that night in the common room. He must have been sitting by the fireside for hours on end, because when Hermione touched his shoulder he realized with a start that the fire had burned out and most of the common room was empty. 

            "It's not that bad, Neville," she said softly. "Some days you get the bear, some days the bear gets you."

            Neville looked at her uncomprehendingly, said nothing.

            Hermione blushed a little. "I guess that's a muggle thing. It just means that, well, some days things go your way, and some days they don't. This was just one of those days when they didn't. Maybe tomorrow will be better."

            "Thanks, Hermione," Neville said in a small voice. He wanted to ask if Draco had ever gotten the best of Harry. He wanted to tell her how much this had hurt. He wanted to cry right there, to weep that it was not fair. He hated himself for his weakness, hated himself more for wanting to cry about it. "All my life, people have been pushing me around. No, more than that. All my life, people have been hurting me, and I've just let them. I've never stood up for myself, and I… I just can't stand to be me, right now."

            "Oh, Neville! Don't ever say that. You're one of the best people I know," Hermione exclaimed, looking like she wanted to cry herself. "It'll get better, I swear it. It's just these Dark Days, that's all."

            "I hope so," Neville said bitterly, not believing it for a second.

            "Trust me. Now, why don't you go upstairs and get some sleep, huh? The sooner you turn in, the sooner tomorrow comes, right?"

            Neville smiled a little bit. "Good idea. Thanks, Hermione."

            "Think nothing of it."

            Neville made his way up the stairs to the room for Gryffindor Seventh Years. He entered the room, becoming depressed again by the sight of five four-poster beds, two of them completely vacant. With a sigh of resignation, he plopped on his back on top of his bed, and stared up at the ceiling. 

            "Neville?" It was Ron's voice.

            "Yes, what is it?" 

            "I know that 'Mione has her heart set on talking to Professor McGonagall and all, but if that doesn't work out right, I'll kick Malfoy's ass for you."

            _I wish I could handle him for myself._ "Thanks, Ron." He could tell that Dean was also still awake by the occasional shuffling noises coming from his bed. Neville took Dean's silence as a condemnation of his own weakness.

            A short while later, the shuffling noises ceased, and the breathing of his roommates indicated that they were asleep. Only then did Neville allow the tears to flow. He coughed, choked, feeling his cheeks hot. He squirmed on his bed, curled into a little ball, and tried to keep his whimpering silent. 

            It was bad enough that he had been pushed around his whole life. It was bad enough that even his friends saw him as someone to be protected. It was bad enough that he regularly suffered embarrassment at the hands of his enemies. That day, his own weakness had caused suffering to Luna, the one girl he wished to protect above all others. He could not allow that to happen again.

            He sat upright, and walked over to the window, tears streaming down his cheeks soundlessly. He put his hands on the edges of the window frame, and gazed out into the oppressive darkness outside. The moon hung, sickle-shaped and eerie, casting pale white light over the school grounds. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robes, and swore to himself in a voice full of self-loathing, that he would never be weak again. He swore that he would find the people that had hurt them, and make them understand that he was not to be taken lightly. He would become a man that could protect the ones he loved. 

            He walked back to his bed, packed quickly and silently, and then left. On his way out of the common room, he grabbed a quill and wrote a quick note to Hermione:

            "From this moment forward, let my thoughts be bloody or nothing worth."

                        *                      *                      *                      *

            **October 12, 1997**. They did not ask many questions when we he arrived The Leaky Cauldron. He was given a key and shown to his room by a young wizard of roughly twenty years. He handed the wizard a few knuts in tip, and then entered his room. He set his few possessions – a few spare robes, Trevor's cage, and a few pieces of Drooble's blowing gum – and counted his money. He frowned slightly, and resolved to go to Gringotts the next day and retrieve the rest of his paltry savings. Just an hour or so before sunrise, Neville slipped into his pajamas, and finally lay down to rest, his wand clutched tightly in his fingers.

            He awoke early in the next afternoon. Outside, fog hug thickly in Diagon Alley, so that it was impossible to see any other buildings from his window. He showered and changed into black robes. He located a full-length mirror and examined his reflection carefully. He did not yet have the look of a serious and deadly wizard. He grabbed an old black belt and fashioned a sort of holster for his wand on his left hip, then covered it up with his robe. A step closer to satisfied, he made a mental note to start working out, and then headed downstairs to see about a late lunch.

            After his meal, he left the Leaky Cauldron and walked to Flourish and Blotts. He paced around in silence for a while; looking up all the books he could on Dueling and Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts. An hour later, he left the bookstore weighed down with seven heavy tomes, and started back to the Leaky Cauldron. He remembered suddenly that he did not at that moment have enough money to pay for another night's lodging. He turned on his heel and went to Gringotts.

            The fog was getting thicker, as near as Neville could tell. He could scarcely see a few feet in front of him, and kept bumping into people and ineffectual lampposts. He proceeded to Gringotts with only a general sensation of where he was going. Within a few minutes, he realized that he was on the wrong course. What was more, gauging from the street sign a mere foot in front of his face, he had wandered into Knockturn Alley.

            _Don't be afraid_. Neville took a few cautious steps forward, still carrying his books, and laid hands on the outside of a building. He followed it until he found the front door to Borgin and Burkes, and went inside. 

A greasy looking man of roughly fifty eyed him suspiciously from behind the counter. "How may I help you, _sir_?" the man sneered. 

Neville held his fear in check and answered loudly. "I seem to have my lost my way in this fog. Can you point me in the direction of Gringotts?"

The man, wearing a nameplate that read "Burkes", gave Neville a patronizing look. "Just follow the outside wall of this building back to Diagon Alley. Hang a left and walk a quarter block or so, and you'll be there." 

"Thank you sir," Neville said politely, and left again to do exactly that. He left quickly and began following the directions. After just a few short feet he could hear voices ahead of him. 

"How much longer?" a wizard asked, his voice husky and thick.

"Two minutes," a woman's voice returned. "Bella should already be inside, waiting to catch the cart underground. We start the attack, and keep the pandemonium sustained for as long as we can. It won't take more than a couple of minutes for the Aurors to arrive, but then, she shouldn't need much time either."

_Bella. The One I seek. _Neville felt his heart race, and he reached his sweaty hand into his robes and pulled out his wand. Bellatrix Lestrange was nearby, and these two were to meet her. For the firs time in his life, Neville felt like a stroke of luck had hit him; his opportunity for vengeance was at hand. He adjusted his speed so that he was following a few paces behind the Deatheaters, hopefully still out of their sight. 

"All right," the man continued. "When you give me the signal, I'll throw up The Mark, and then you start plugging bystanders. I'll deal with the goblins. That should give Bella enough time to get underneath and grab the package."

_Goblins? They were going to Gringotts! _Neville knew he should slip away and warn the Ministry, but there might not be enough time. These two were planning on attacking the Wizards Bank, and likely killing several people at the same time. Worse yet, Bellatrix Lestrange was going to steal something from the vaults, and whatever it was it could not be good news.

Suddenly, they were at the entrance to Gringotts. The two Deatheaters went directly inside. He set his books down against the wall outside the bank. Neville paused, so as not to give away that he had followed them through the fog, and pulled his hood over his face. Then, he stole inside quickly.

The scene inside was normal. A few witches and wizards waited in lines, filled out papers, and generally looked bored. The two Deatheaters he had followed split up, the man heading over toward the lines where most of the goblins were. The woman, whom he recognized as Narcissa Malfoy, stole behind a stone column to in front of Neville and to his left side, a safe vantage point from which she could strike down many customers with relative impunity. 

Neville scanned the room in a state of near-frenzy, looking for their partner in crime. Just when his panic seemed about to peak, he spotted her, standing under a bulletin board, pretending to read some notices, and smiling maliciously. Neville's heart filled with rage, a cold hatred he had never known before. 

Less than ten feet away from her a cart sat empty, leading to the underground vaults. Neville started making some long strides directly to his left. Narcissa Malfoy glanced at her watch, then raised her hand as if waving to the male Deatheater. Neville broke into a run as the man pulled his wand out and bellowed "MORSMORDE!"

Bellatrix Lestrange pulled her wand as well, stunning a goblin and racing toward the cart. Neville was now just a few feet behind Narcissa, who had her wand out, ready to begin the slaughter. 

"STUPEFY!" Neville declared, sending a bolt of red energy into Narcissa's back. The force of the spell plastered her against the stone, breaking her nose and knocking her unconscious. He began sprinting across the open floor of the lobby, ignoring the green symbol forming over his head and the panicked screams of the bystanders. The man had begun attacking the goblins in charge, and did not see Neville, the only man running **into** the bank, amidst all the people running out of it.  

Neville was closing in fast on Bellatrix, who had hopped into a cart, oblivious to the events behind her. She disappeared into the shaft, and a goblin jumped into a cart behind her, hot in pursuit. Neville reached the scene just as the goblin took off. He entered the shaft at a full run, and with a great leap landed in the back of the cart, laying face down.

The goblin spun around to face him. "What the-". But he got no further; a shaft of green light hit beside his head and he toppled dead on top of Neville. Neville remained motionless until he heard a malicious laughter from the cart ahead of him: "It's just so easy!"

Neville cautiously got to his knees and peered over the front edge of the cart. Both carts were rocketing down the shaft at great speed, the only light to be seen were the occasional blurs of the front of each vault. Neville clutched his wand tightly in his sweaty hands. Ahead of him, Bellatrix Lestrange was standing up with her back turned, apparently enjoying the ride. He toyed with the notion of stunning her right there, but suddenly the shaft curved sharply to the left and he was thrown on his back again. Whatever it was he intended to do would have to wait until they arrived at their destination.

Ten minutes later, they were miles underground, and the carts suddenly rolled to a stop. He heard Bellatrix jump out of her cart and land heavily on the platform in front of the vault. Summoning his courage, he peered over the edge of the cart again. Bellatrix walked up to the door, carrying a dead goblin in her hands. She put her wand into her pocket and proceeded to tear one of the long, curved claws out of the goblin's hand. She inserted it into the lock mechanism to the vault door.

_Now_. Neville stood up as quietly as possible, then pointed his wand at Bellatrix's back, shouting "Accio Wand!"

Bellatrix turned just in time to see her wand fly from her pocket and into Neville's ready hand. A look of horror crossed her features as Neville climbed confidently out of the cart, and began walking toward her. Her eyes darted from him to her cart, some twenty feet away, and then back again.

"Try it," Neville breathed venomously, his eyes blazing. "See what happens."

"Who are you, little troublemaker, that you would interfere with the Dark Lord's work?" she hissed, nearly overcome with anger. 

Rage burned in his chest. "You don't know me?" he asked, incredulous.

She eyed him more closely, as he stepped into the light and stopped, ten feet away. "No."

"My name is Neville Longbottom," he said, his voice tremulous. "I've come to avenge my parents."

"Ah, now I remember you. We met at the Ministry of Magic. I seem to recall that I taught you a lesson in pain," she laughed. "And I'm going to go one further today. Today, fat boy, I'm going to kill you."

Neville swallowed the lump in his throat. "Idle threat," he decreed. "I'm in control here. Today I'm going to make sure that your evil comes full circle." He gestured menacingly with his wand. He felt exhilarated, joyful, at the power he commanded over his mortal enemy. 

"Is that right, boy? You think you have what it takes?" she laughed again, the most horrible sound he could imagine. She shrugged, throwing her arms wide in a show of vulnerability. "Go ahead. Kill me."

Neville kept his eyes locked on hers. His fingers trembled on his wand, with what he did not know. Fear? Hatred? Triumph? It had been a long time since that awful day in his parents' house, and he had anticipated this day ever since. He took just a moment to savor it before answering: "Kill you? My darling Bella, if you are anticipating death, I'm afraid you'll have to wait."

"What are you going to do then, boy? Turn me in?"

"Nothing of the sort." With a smile, Neville raised his wand and performed the first spell he had ever known.

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**October 14, 1997**. The last rays of sunlight slowly died out of the lobby at Gringotts bank. Weary goblins closed the teller windows, and locked the safe, calling an end to another long day. Within ten minutes of closing time, the last goblin walked out the front door and locked it behind him. An hour passed in silence, nothing moving, no sound made, not even the rumblings of the hypothetical dragons far below. 

He emerged from the tunnel and staggered weakly across the vacant lobby. The tears had long since ceased to fall, leaving only one tired young wizard. Following the plan he had formed during the last hour and a half, he grabbed the chair right next to the giant picture windows and hurled it through, smirking a little. Not enchanted on this side, I guess. 

Neville stepped through the window frame and disappeared into the cold night air.


	5. The Darkness Within: Luna Lovegood

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.**

Dark Days: Luna Lovegood

            **October 15, 1997**. Luna Lovegood pulled out her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook, making a quick note of the pages assigned for the day's reading. Professor Snape, having finally attained the post that he had yearned for, was determined that his first crop of students would demonstrate his genius. Therefore, he worked them harder than Luna had ever seen a professor work his students. Weekly essays were assigned and collected, sometimes as long as eight feet.. They were given better than four hundred pages of reading every weekend. Every Monday, Snape treated them to an exam. His personality had not improved greatly, and he still demonstrated a pronounce bias in favor of Slytherin. _It's a wonder any other house ever won a House Championship while he's been here._

Luna began her work in earnest and in silence, which were the best ways to work in that class. Indeed, if they did not make a single noise during the entire period, so much the better for them – Snape was in a particular fury that day. Everyone had been a little on edge (if not downright panicked) since Dumbledore's death, so Luna could forgive Snape for being a little bit nastier.

Luna tried to take some good notes on the passage she was reading, which was an historical account of Killing Curses throughout the ages. Wizards had, of course, been killing each other for years before the Unforgivable Curse had ever been employed. There were spells to suffocate, to behead, and to rip bodies apart. The list went on for pages. The essay for the week was to describe why "Avada Kedavra" was the most efficient.

Even as she worked, her mind kept drifting back to the events of the night before.

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**October 14, 1997**_. _"Quit being such a git and let me through," Ron was saying. 

"I can't see why you need in here so badly," the stern-faced fifth year replied, arms crossed. "If it is as important as you say it is, then get McGonagall to come down here and tell me."

"I told you," Ron persisted, keeping his anger in check with difficulty. "I need to see Luna urgently."

Luna had been sitting in her common room reading when Ron had started banging on the door, demanding entrance. She perked up considerably at the sound of her own name. Leaving her books in front of the couch, she walked to the door to intervene in the unfolding scene between Ron and one of the Ravenclaw prefects. 

            "What is it, Ron?" she asked, bewildered.

            "It's Neville," he breathed. "He's back."

            Luna left with Ron without so much as a backward glance. Neville had been missing for nearly three days, and the only clue to his location was a cryptic note left for Hermione. They hurried along the dark corridors, Ron being unable to answer most of Luna's pressing questions.

            "Where has he been?" she demanded at first.

            "No idea," Ron said, shrugging. 

            Luna thought she detected a note of agitation in his voice. "None?"

            "Nope."

            Luna's suspicion was confirmed; Ron was angry about something. "Is he okay?"

            "I couldn't tell you that either."

            "Is he hurt?"

            "Not visibly."

            Luna stopped walking abruptly, pondering the significance of that remark. 

            "Well, come on, will you?" Ron said, his voice scarcely hiding his aggravation. "No sense in standing here, is there?"

            "What is going on with Neville, Ron? Please." Luna asked, her voice surprisingly pleading.  

            Ron cast his gaze down the empty corridor suspiciously, and then began. "He came in all of a sudden, right after dinner. And he looked a fright, I'll tell you. He's… real upset. He won't talk to any of us, and he just keeps saying your name, crying a little bit. We're hoping that he'll talk to you." 

            Luna began walking again, following Ron up to Gryffindor Tower. She had escorted Neville up there several times, but had never yet been inside. 

"What about the note? What was that all about?" she asked suddenly.

"Still no idea. All he's said so far is your name."

When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Ron issued the password to the Fat Lady ("Rampart") without a second thought, and led Luna through the portrait-hole. Inside, the common room was mostly empty. Hermione and Ron must have flexed their prefect muscle and sent all the students to their respective rooms. The sofas and easy chairs were all vacant, save for the one closest the roaring fire. Neville sat in the middle of it, weeping quietly, eyes not focusing on anything in particular. On either side of him were Ginny and Hermione, trying to soothe him without much success. Directly behind, standing back a few feet was Dean Thomas, his face unreadable.

            Luna raced over to his side, earning relieved looks from the girls. "Neville!" she gasped, embracing him tightly. She held him for a moment, feeling relief course through her body. She pulled away and stared at him.

            Neville was a moment in acknowledging her, as if awaking from a dream. Instantly, his crying stopped, and he sniffled a little, clearly embarrassed. "Luna? What are you… I'm so glad you're here."

            "Neville? Are you okay?" Ginny interrupted. Apparently this was the first intelligible thing he had said since his arrival.

            "No, not at all," Neville breathed, not taking his eyes off of Luna. "Can we… can we go somewhere and talk?" he asked her.

            "Of course, Neville. Of course," she said at once. "Oh, Neville, I've been so worried about you!"

            "I'm… alive," he managed. "So I guess I'm alright."

            "Where have you been?" Ron demanded.

            "I, uh, I will tell you everything soon enough. But I want to tell her first," Neville said feebly.

            "Whatever you want," Hermione cut in, earning a rude glare from Ron. "Why don't you guys take a walk, and we'll wait for you here. Patiently." She added, throwing Ron a no-nonsense look.

            "That's a good idea," Luna agreed, taking him by the hand and leading him outside before anyone could argue. "Come on, Neville." They walked through the empty corridors in silence, finally making their way out the front doors of the castle and out into the cold night. Luna was aching to hear the story from him, but he was in no hurry to tell it, so she did not press it.

            Neville lead her down to the side of the lake, where a stiff wind assailed them, chilling Luna to her bones. The sky overhead was cloudy, and the absence of the moon cloaked everything in a thick darkness. There was moisture in the air; threatening a rain shower that would turn the weather from cold to unbearable. Neville came to a stop beneath a tree at the waters edge, and sat down on the ground.

            Luna reluctantly sat down in front of him, feeling the cold earth against her legs. She shivered slightly, and Neville gave her his thick traveling cloak, which he presumably had never removed.

            "Neville, what happened?" she asked then, unable to bear the silence any further.

            Neville stared into space without saying anything for a span of a couple of minutes, although she was certain that he had heard her. Just when she was afraid he had spaced out again, he spoke:

            "On Saturday, when Malfoy and his thugs… attacked us, well, I didn't take it very well. All my life, people have been pushing me around. I have always hated it. But on that day, they hurt you, too. I couldn't take it. My weakness was no longer causing just me to suffer. I couldn't let it happen again. I resolved to start leveling the field, to strike back at all those people who had hurt me over the years."

"I decided to start with the first."

Luna pondered this for a moment. She was not sure how to feel; she was flattered that he would only speak to her, that she alone could bring him out of his nightmarish reverie. She was very fond of Neville; he was her closest friend at Hogwarts, and even in life. More than once she had considered what it would be like to marry him to raise a family with him. In fact, she had thought of it so often that the thought of ending up with someone else just did not seem right. Even so, the things he was telling her, about how protective he felt for her, made her feel a little uncomfortable.

"You mean… Bellatrix Lestrange?"

Neville nodded. "I mean to say that I meant to get to her eventually. My first thought was to strike out on my own, and maybe join the Order of the Phoenix, like Harry did. I-I bought these books… I was so naïve. I thought I could learn to protect myself, to fight, from a book. It seems silly now, and a little pathetic. But, there I was, walking around Diagon Alley in the think fog, when I stumbled on a couple of Deatheaters who were about to attack Gringotts."

Luna nodded, things beginning to click into place for her. She had read in The Daily Prophet about the attack on Gringotts that had been mysteriously foiled. Two Deatheaters, including Narcissa Malfoy, had been captured quite easily, and the hero had never been found, nor the plans of the Deatheaters ever uncovered.

"I encountered Bellatrix there, and followed her in stealth down one of the shafts, way underground. She never knew I was there, right up to the point where I disarmed her." Neville paused, the words coming out more slowly now. "It wasn't heroic, it wasn't even very difficult. It was just… ambush."

Luna stared at Neville in quiet shock. He paid no attention to her, his eyes focused on a spot a few feet above her left shoulder. She suddenly wished that he would look at her, that his eyes would show the young man she had come to know, just so that she could be sure that he was still there at all. 

            Neville had apparently gotten as far as he could on his own. He sat there in the dark, fidgeting uncomfortably. Luna sighed heavily, watching a wisp of steam escape her lips and rise, dispersing into oblivion. "Did you kill her, Neville?" she said quietly, steeling herself for the answer she did not want to hear.

            Neville nodded. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely a whisper. He went on in so low a voice that she had to strain her ears to catch it. "But that's not all. I… Oh god, what have I done?" He seemed about to cry, but kept it in, gritting his teeth as he spoke. "I tortured her, Luna. The Cruciatus Curse. The Unforgivable Curse, the one they put people in Azkaban for life just for using!"

            At these words, Neville lost all control and began wailing without restraint. He reached out for Luna and pulled her close to him, sobbing now against her chest. She kept her head level, unable to look down at the man-child in her arms. She felt stiff, and cold, in a way that had nothing to do with the weather.

            "I tortured her for hours… Just like-just like she did to my parents. I'm just like her, Luna! We're all fighting this evil, trying to contain it - the evil of Bellatrix Lestrange and the Deatheaters and You-Know-Who and can't you see… the evil isn't just out there, it's in me, Luna!"

            Luna Lovegood ceased to notice the passage of time. She stood outside with Neville for what must have been an hour. In fact, she was only dimly aware of his presence. All she could think about was Neville, towering over a dark figure, his round face twisted into a sadistic grin. She was touched by an inexplicable sadness, as if the world had ended and nobody had bothered to inform her.

When she came to her senses again, she was aware of being frigidly cold. Neville had ceased crying and was staring at her, awaiting her judgment. She knew then why he had come to her – if anyone could forgive him for what he had done, it was she. He was not seeking solace: he was seeking absolution. She could never stomach what he had done; she knew that at once. The memory of this conversation would be with her for the rest of her life. She could not tell him that it was okay, that he was okay. She simply said: "I love you, Neville."

He collapsed against her once more, in gratitude this time. He believed he had found his forgiveness, and she would let him think so. She knew that her statement was true: she did love him, could not help loving him, even in spite of this. She was not sure, but she might just regret that yet.

After awhile they returned to the castle, not saying a word. On their way through the front door, Luna allowed her eyes to wander over to Hagrid's home, to the new statue that had been erected in memorial of those slain that night. _This war is costing us more than we ever guessed._

"Neville," she breathed urgently, stopping them just inside the front door.

"What?" Neville half-shouted, his voice full of nervous energy.

"Bellatrix Lestrange is, or rather was, a highly regarded and dangerous Deatheater," she began.

Neville looked surprised for a second. "Yes?"

"I'm not praising you, Neville, make no mistake about that," she said sharply, trying to keep the disgust from seeping into her voice. "But she was one of the favorite servants of You-Know-Who. What I'm saying is that, if word got out that… if word got out about what you did, you might as well paint a target on your back."

Neville nodded glumly, saying nothing.

"So just don't tell anyone you don't trust about this, okay?" Luna finished.

"Okay," Neville said quietly.

Within minutes, they had traveled back up to Gryffindor tower. "Rampart," Luna spoke to the Fat Lady, who gave them entrance hesitantly. Her voice sounded husky and strange. _Have I been crying?_

There was a flurry of motion on the other side of the portrait hole as they entered. Hermione, Ron, Ginny and even Dean were still waiting inside, and they all jumped to their feet at the return of Neville and Luna. Ron looked about ready to say something, then misplaced it and held his tongue. Nor did Neville seem in any hurry to begin conversation, so Luna said: "He is okay. I think it would be best if you all left him alone tonight – what he needs most is sleep. He can tell you whatever he pleases tomorrow, but for tonight let him sleep."

Hermione nodded, understandingly. "Ron, take him upstairs, won't you?"

Ron looked a little rebuffed, clearly wanting to remain behind and hear what Luna had to say. "Um, sure…" he said reluctantly.

"That's okay, Ron. I can – I'll go alone. Goodnight guys," Neville said. He began hobbling off in a clumsy little walk. Hermione was staring daggers at Ron, who shrugged innocently. All eyes followed Neville across the common room, until he disappeared up the staircase to his room. All attention instantly reverted to Luna.

"What happened?" Ron hissed, trying rather unsuccessfully to keep his voice down.

_Idle curiosity_. Luna felt a wave of aggravation toward Ron, who seemed only interested in keeping on top of the hot gossip. Immediately thereafter, she felt another wave of irritation, this one for Neville, for leaving her there to explain his disappearance to his friends.

"Is he okay?" Ginny asked, timidly.

_True concern_. Luna smiled at the youngest Weasley, feeling a strong sense of gratitude. "Yes, he is okay. Or he will be, once he deals with some things."

"What happened to him?" Hermione put in. 

"He struck out on his own, to prove to himself his worth as a man. It went rather poorly," she added, her eyes glazing as she thought of the horrible truth behind those words. "He has killed Bellatrix Lestrange."

"WHAT?!?" Dean spoke up for the first time, seemingly echoing the sentiments of all who were present.

Luna nodded in confirmation. "He was present at that attack on Gringotts. He chased her down a shaft underground and killed her. I don't think her body has been found."

"Well, that's… great, isn't it?" Ron asked, seeming sure that he was being an ass but unsure why.

"No, no it isn't," Dean answered.

"Oh, poor Neville…" Hermione murmured.

"Neville can tell you as much or as little of his story as he pleases tomorrow, Ron," Luna said, her irritation beginning to show in her voice. "But for the time being, I can assure that this is not great."

Hermione, at least, caught the hint. "Thank you, Luna. I appreciate that you came up here to help him out. Well, to help all of us out."

"Yes, thank you," Ginny chimed. She hugged Luna briefly, sweetly.

"I guess I'll just be on my way, then," Luna said. "Good night, guys."

"Good night Luna, and thanks again," Hermione said.

Luna walked over to and out of the portrait hole, and began to head back to her common room. She realized that she was still wearing Neville's traveling cloak. She turned back to return it, but then thought better of it, not wanting to see anyone in that house again that night.

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**October 18, 1997**. Luna sat next to Neville that night, rather reluctantly. They were sitting in the Room of Requirement, waiting for the weekly meeting of the DA to begin. The training sessions had undergone a radical change this year, owing to a number of things.

First of all, Harry Potter had been there for the first two meetings, but then had been graduated early. In his absence, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny had taken over as leaders for the group, being older and slightly more experienced then the rest. More than that, Luna had noticed that proximity to Harry was an almost tangible currency among the students: Harry's closest friends seemed like the natural heirs to his throne.

In the wake of his departure and the multiple deaths of the previous month, a more urgent mood had taken over the group. The previous incarnation had never known the spirit of desperation and fear that was then present every week. 

The faces in the circle had changed slightly. Older members, such as Lavender and Parvati Patil, Dean Thomas, Justin Finch-Fletchley, The Creevey Brothers, Michael Corner and Ernie MacMillan, were regulars. By and large, though, the Room of Requirement was teeming with frightened-looking first and second years. Luna guessed that most of them were Gryffindors, with a strong showing of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. _Where are all the Slytherins? Oh, yeah, in the other camp._

Another key departure from the old group was the element of secrecy. Previously, they had snuck around behind the backs of Delores Umbridge and her spies. Now, Professor McGonagall was fully aware of their activities, and condoned them. Students caught in the halls after DA meetings were no punished. McGonagall had even gone so far as to offer the services of their DADA professor, or any member of the staff (the thought of Snape leading these meeting was repellent to many of the group). Harry politely refused her offer, stating that they were student-led and happy with it.

Across the room, apparently sensing that the majority of students had arrived, Ginny Weasley rose and strode over to a podium that Luna had not noticed before.

"Good evening," she said, and the crowded room fell silent. If proximity to Harry earned respect in this circle, then Ginny Weasley was their queen. Whatever she might say on the topic, the rumor mill had it on good authority that she and Harry Potter were in love, ready to elope at the drop of a hat (or more likely, at the fall of an Evil Regime).

Of course, the rumor mill had been wrong before. Something about Ginny Weasley spurred gossip. It likely had something to do with the fact that she had outgrown her adolescent awkwardness, and blossomed into a drop-dead gorgeous young redhead with enchanting eyes. Luna had been privy to a wide array of talk about her, which partnered her with anyone from Michael Corner to Dean Thomas to Draco Malfoy.

"Dark Days have come upon us all," she said, her voice strong and authoritative. She had a few pieces of parchment in front of her, but seemed to be reciting from memory. "Muggle and Wizard alike. Calamities will abound as the shadow of He-Who-Must Not-Be-Named passes over the land. The darkness will be thicker, more complete than ever and the blood of heroes will flow. Hallowed institutions of old will burn to the ground in the wake of this fierce storm."

Ginny's words had a palpable affect on the meeting; students looked around at each other in abject fear. Luna knew that many of them had come for the precise purpose of assuaging their concerns, and to have Ginny enumerate them so directly was unnerving to say the least.

Ginny consulted her sheets and then went on. "I know that these words are not comforting to you, and for that I apologize. But these words are the reality that we must prepare for. We have gathered under the name of Dumbledore's Army so that we might be a competent force in the face of danger, not so that we can escape our fears. And now that our beloved headmaster is gone, these concerns are more real and more pressing than ever before."

Several of the older students shuddered at the mention of Dumbledore's death. Luna knew that, as far as most of these kids were concerned, they ought to call themselves Harry's Army. Most of them had never even met Professor Dumbledore, let alone held a conversation with him. Most of these kids were raised with the fairytale of the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry Potter was not a removed concept; he had seen the Darkness and had come back to be there among them, to instruct them. Harry even kept in contact with some of them. He believed that the DA had the right to know what was going on in the war, so he was their best source of information. These students could not identify with Professor Dumbledore; he was older, distant, and relatively obscure. Most of all, he was dead. 

"It is not the intention of the DA to help you pass the time or make you feel safer in these troubling times. If you came here for those purposes, you might as well go find the door now," Ginny went on, her voice hard and her stare piercing. "We have felt of late that things are a little too light-hearted in here, and we feel that our performance is suffering as a result. In a minute, you will break up into pairs to practice combat spells, and I want each of you to remember as you do so why we are here."

Ginny's speech certainly had its intended affect. Serious faces turned to serious faces and paired up, beginning to work with renewed fervor. Luna turned to Neville and their eyes met for a horrible moment of indecision. Every week they that year they had paired up together, and she was suddenly unwilling to do so again.

Luna could tell that the same thought had occurred to both of them; that the last time Neville had dueled, he had tortured a woman to death. It was then that Luna divined the maze of emotion that had ensnared her following Neville's confession; worry, anger, sadness and outrage. It all boiled down to one simple fact; she was afraid of him, of what he had become.

No, that isn't true! Not what he has become, what he might yet become. It isn't too late for him.

"Why don't you find a new partner this week, Luna?" Neville said in a weak voice. "I think I'll just observe; you know, try to help the others out."

"That's a good idea," Luna replied, trying to stop herself from shaking. 

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**October 18, 1997. **"Hey, Ginny, wait up!" Luna called, pursuing the youngest Weasley as they both left the Room of Requirement. 

"Sure thing, Luna," Ginny replied, stopping to wait for her. 

Luna was shocked by how tired Ginny sounded. "Are you alright?" she asked, concern taking precedence over whatever else she had wanted to say.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just exhausted." Ginny answered, not sounding very convinced herself. Luna had caught up to her, and they began to walk together, surprisingly alone in the dark corridors. "Really exhausted. How are you… you know, with everything?"

Luna sighed. "Still a little freaked out, I guess."

Ginny nodded understandingly. "Yeah, it can be hard to come to grips with; someone you're close to suddenly becoming a killer."

You don't know the half of it. "Yeah, I guess we have something in common, there."

Ginny blushed for a second. "What do you mean?"

Luna felt the corners of her mouth forming a smile. "Oh, you know. Being in love with wizards who are thrown too deeply into this awful war."

Ginny broke into a genuine smile for the first time in Luna's recent memory. "I'm sure I don't know… yes, I suppose there's no point in hiding it. Harry and I are… together? I guess that's the word I'm looking for here."

"I knew it!" Luna shrieked.

"Yes, well, keep your voice down. No need to get everyone talking about it. But what about you? Have you and Neville finally broken through that whole friendship barrier?"

Luna's smile vanished. "No, we haven't. I wanted to, but then this whole Bellatrix Lestrange thing came up and I don't know what to make of it, I really don't," Luna replied, grateful for the opportunity to unburden herself.

"I understand," Ginny agreed. "I felt so scared after that night at home, when Harry went and killed all of those Deatheaters. I take my solace in the fact that he is fighting on the right side of all of this. He may wade knee-deep into that darkness, but at the end of the day he wants to be out of it, and that's why he fights."

Luna pondered this in silence. A few moments elapsed as they walked down the hallways. They were not heading anywhere in particular, not toward Gryffindor or Ravenclaw House. 

"Ginny, are you afraid?" Luna blurted out.

"Almost constantly," Ginny replied. She did not need much time to think it over. "Everything I said in that meeting is true; we are in the midst of very scary times."

"No, I mean, are you afraid of Harry?"

Ginny stopped her walk and looked Luna in the eyes for a moment. "Well, no. Not anymore. I used to be, but I know him, Luna, and I know that he is a good person, on his way to being a good man, and I put my faith in that."

Luna nodded, thinking over these words. "Okay. Thank you Ginny. For everything." She bid goodnight to her friend at the next cross-corridor, and made her way home. 

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**October 21, 1997. **As usual, Snape had an exam waiting for them when they returned to class the following Monday. Luna began writing furiously as soon as the exam had started, trying to cover each question in exhaustive detail – the only way to meet Snape's exacting standards. 

Professor Snape was not furnished with a list of the members of the DA, but if he had he would have been surprised to find them at the top of all his classes. Luna enjoyed the fact that her progress in the DA showed in her class performance.

They had barely gotten through the first question (List All Seven Killing Curses, and explain the various faults and strengths of each) when the previously closed door burst open noisily. Luna, like everyone else in the room, was astonished to see Harry Potter walk through the door. 

Harry little resembled the student they had known only a month before, at least by his mannerisms. There was some terrible purpose to the way he walked. His eyes were blazing with pure anger. Most notable, was that his wand was out and pointed at their Professor, who was sitting behind his desk, looking positively livid.

"Potter!" Snape thundered. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I needed to talk to you, _professor_," Harry said, keeping his eyes trained on the greasy-haired former potions master. "Class dismissed. Now."

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape demanded. "Class is most certainly not dismissed. Anything you have to say to me can wait until after the period."

"As it happens, it can't. I repeat: class dismissed!" Harry jerked the wand threateningly toward Snape. "Luna, get them out of here."

Luna, who had not previously been sure he had even noticed her, followed his order immediately. "You heard him, kids," she said, addressing the stunned classroom. "Let's go. No, leave your test here, and leave your books behind. Just grab your wands and get out of here."

Snape tried one more time, in vain. "Potter, my students are in the middle of an examination-"

            "Can it, Snape," Harry growled. His eyes had not wavered from the professor, who was still sitting behind the desk, seething.

            Luna ushered the startled Ravenclaws out the door, making sure she was the last one out. She shut the door most of the way behind her, leaving a small crack. Her classmates looked at her in bewilderment, not knowing what to do next. Luna was discovering that, in times of confusion, people would often listen to anyone giving orders. "Michael, go to the Gryffindor common room and find the leadership of the DA. I believe their password is `Rampart' still; if that doesn't work, just beat on the door until someone opens up," Luna barked. Michael took off with haste.

            "Salisha, go to Professor McGonagall and tell her what has happened. Get her down here as quickly as possible. The rest of you, go directly to the common room and wait for further instruction."

            As soon as the crowd dispersed, Luna pressed against doorframe outside the DADA classroom, and listened intently. Apparently, Harry too was waiting for the students to leave.

            "I have a few questions to ask you, Severus," Harry said quietly.

            "What is the meaning of this, Potter? Bursting into the middle of my class, disrupting an exam, and waving your wand around like you own the place?" Snape's voice was full of venom. 

            "Where are they, Severus?" Harry asked, his voice full of presumption.

            "Where are who, Potter?"

            "Our comrades from the Order of the Phoenix; McGonagall and Moody and the rest. The people that are supposed to be here to keep me from losing my temper and killing you on the spot," Harry said, his voice threatening. "So I recommend that you try to be cooperative as possible and not push me too much."

            Luna's eyes went wide, her heart beat furiously, and she felt her breath coming with difficulty. _What is going on here?_

            Snape's voice had lost it's edge. Apparently he believed that his former student might do precisely as he had said. "Potter, I have little time for your grudges," his voice flat and fearful. "Whatever passed between us in class in of no matter anymore."

            "I quite agree. This isn't about that, isn't about me at all," Harry said. Luna heard heavy footsteps inside the classroom, which she presumed were Harry's. "The last few days I've been in Dumbledore's office, reviewing his pensieve." Harry let the words hang in the air for a moment.

            "I don't see what… has to do with…" Snape was muttering in a mostly unintelligible manner.

            "The last memory that Dumbledore put in there was of a conversation he had with you on the day he died," Harry went on, speaking slowly and deliberately. "He had just finished a conversation with Flitwick about how he was sure there was a traitor in Order. And then you walked in, and the three of you made plans to meet at Hagrid's and to go to the meeting together that night."

            "Yes, I said as much in my statement to the Order."

            "Yes, but I think you may have left out some relevant details."

            "Such as?"

            "Such as the fact that you set Dumbledore up. Such as the fact that you murdered Hagrid. Such as the fact that you have been working for Voldemort all along, when we thought you were our most valuable spy." Harry's voice remained calm, but Luna could detect the subtle rage underneath. 

            "That's… preposterous!"

            There was silence in the room for a moment, and then Luna heard a noise that sounded very much like a vial being set on a desk. "If it isn't true, then you won't object to retelling your tale under Veritaserum. Ironically enough, it was you that taught me how to make it."

            There was more silence, and finally Snape began speaking again, his voice resuming its calm nastiness. "Potter, no one had more reason to suspect your potions than I. Unless you have improved your skills radically, there is every chance that you could poison me. With the best intentions, I'm sure. Allow me to furnish you with some truth serum from my supplies, and I will happily submit to your inquisition." Luna heard the sounds of rustling papers and a desk drawer being opened. "Ah here it is!"

            "No, Snape, we're going to do this my way. I'll give you a choice; take my serum or grab your wand and prepare to defend your own life."

            Luna's heart was beating faster than ever. She glanced up and down the hallway, looking for someone to come to their aid. As of yet, there was none. The sound of breaking glass inside the classroom regained her attention. She looked over to the door, still slightly ajar, in time to see a thick column of green smoke emerge from it with enough force to blow the door wide open.

            Luna grabbed the edge of her robe and covered her mouth. She pulled out her wand and cried out "Dispellitus!" and watched as the smoke cleared slowly out of the hallway.

            From within came the sounds of a few dull thuds, and then Snape came racing through the open doorway, a handkerchief pulled over his face. Luna met his eyes to see a look of diabolical pleasure. Before she could react, he grabbed her forcefully, taking her wand and spinning her around so that she now faced the door.

            Harry emerged an instant later, also clutching a handkerchief, his wand out. Snape cowered behind his body shield, sticking her own wand to her head. "Halt there, or she dies!" he screamed.

            Harry froze in his tracks, his eyes darting left and right wildly, sizing up the situation. 

            "Now drop your wand, and lay down on the ground!" Snape shrieked, pressing the edge of the wand into her temple.

            Luna wanted to call out to Harry, to tell him not to do it, something heroic like "Forget about me! Don't let him escape!". However, her mind filled with one thought alone: _Don't let me die. Dear god, please don't let me die!_

Harry hesitated, and instead asked Snape a question: "Why'd you do it, Severus? Why did you betray us?"

            "You twit, you should have learned your lesson with your parents. The Dark Lord in unstoppable!"

            "No, he isn't," Harry said, his voice surprisingly calm. He had not yet dropped his wand, but took a small step toward Snape.

            "You have no idea about any of it, you fool! Your head is full of cheap showy tricks and cryptically phrased prophecies, but you have no idea of the raw power of the Dark Lord! He will be victorious in this little war, and all of you will be crushed!"

            "AVADA KEDAVRA!" came a shout from down the hallway. Luna felt something powerful hit Snape from behind, and then he toppled over on top of her. Seconds later, Harry was pulling her out from underneath Snape's corpse. 

            "Are you okay?" he asked, urgency in his voice. "I had no idea you were still out here…"

            "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, trembling slightly. She looked down the hallway to find Mad-Eye Moody shuffling toward them, his wand still out and a serious look on his face. 

            "Moody," Harry said in acknowledgement. "Thank you."

            Luna wanted to echo the sentiment, to lavish upon him praise, but instead nodded enthusiastically, finding speech a little bit of a struggle for some reason. 

            "Sure thing, Potter," the aged ex-auror said gruffly. "It's a good thing I came down this way when I did. But then, I'm sure you had everything under control."

            "I thought I did…" Harry mumbled, looking away.

            Luna cringed. She knew that if she had followed Harry's orders and left the scene, then she'd have never fallen into Snape's clutches as a hostage. "It's my fault," she said quietly.

            "No, it isn't," Harry replied. "What were you doing here anyway?"

            Mad Eye laughed a little. "McGonagall wanted me to stop in and check on you while she was away. You know, keep you out of trouble and what not. Apparently it was a good idea."

            Harry made a face at this.

            "Where is Professor McGonagall?" Luna spoke up.

            "France, I believe. Meeting with Madame Maxime and Delacour. Trying to find some recruits for the Order. I wish her luck with that," Mad Eye replied.

            Luna must have looked confused, because Harry explained: "Everyone in the World Wizarding community is reacting to the return of Voldemort in about the same way – defending their own borders. That's why Seamus Finnegan isn't in school this year, and why we never heard from Karkaroff until they took Durmstrang. Every other major wizarding nation thinks of this as largely England's problem."

            Luna nodded in understanding. _Figures._

            "So, why did we kill Snape?" Mad Eye asked suddenly.

            "He's been working for Voldemort all along. He killed Hagrid and betrayed Dumbledore," Harry answered, a sour look covering his face.

            Mad Eye looked aghast. "I'm not surprised, really. I never trusted him after he came back from their camp. How did you figure him out?"

            "I'll admit it didn't make a lot of sense. In truth, I was motivated by my dislike for him; my hunch that he might have betrayed us started with my hatred. Arthur had said that Hagrid's body was cold by the time he arrived on the scene that day. That means that he had been dead long before Dumbledore, Flitwick and Snape arrived that evening. The thought occurred to me that maybe Snape had killed Hagrid, and helped the Deatheaters to ambush Dumbledore. I started searching through Dumbledore's pensieve while McGonagall was away, and I found a memory that confirmed my suspicion. Well, at least enough to confront him with a vial of veritaserum."

            They lulled into an uncomfortable silence. Luna felt her attention gravitating to the corpse before her. She looked away, her cheeks burning in shame, only to see that Harry and Mad Eye were staring morbidly at Snape as well. 

            "Well, I suppose he had it coming, then," Moody muttered. "I'm glad we killed him."

            Luna felt startled by Moody's words. _What a horrible thing to say! About anyone, any time!_

"I'd like to point out that you killed him, not me."

            Luna and Moody simultaneously whirled to look at Harry in astonishment.    

            "Beg your pardon?" Mad Eye asked, sounding offended.

            Harry turned away from the corpse to look at him face to face. "I said that I didn't kill him. Wouldn't have."

            "I had to save the girl, didn't I?" Mad Eye asked, gesturing toward Luna. She felt a surge of irritation at being referred to as "the girl", but decided against making an issue of it.

            "You could have stunned him."

            "Maybe, but…" Mad Eye's voice trailed off, and he looked at Harry in bewilderment. "You've killed before, Potter. I know you have."

            Harry's face fell. "Yes, I am," he admitted to the floor. "But I'm not very good at it. I've killed seven people, and every night I think about everyone of them. Every night I regret every one of them. And that's why I'm not like you, Mad Eye; I hate that I kill. Every time I take a life, it is in the hope that it will be the last time."

            Mad Eye regarded Harry critically. "Maybe I was wrong about you, Potter," he said, his voice thick with disgust. "Maybe you don't have what it's gonna take."

            Harry's face resumed its old determination, and he merely stared the ex-auror in the eye without blinking.

            "What in the name of-"

            Luna looked up to see that their moment of solitude had ended. Michael had at last returned from the Gryffindor common room, leading Ron, Hermione, Dean, Ginny, and Neville. All five of them had their wands out, and were staring with wide eyes at the scene in front of them.

            Mad Eye looked at Harry and shrugged. He gestured toward the group of them, and then turned and walked off the other direction, saying over his shoulder: "I'm going to send an owl to Minerva and see if she can bring a new teacher back from France."

            "Harry, what happened?" Ginny asked, walking slowly over to the Boy-Who-Lived, staying as far away from the body on the ground as she could. 

            Harry took two steps in Ginny's direction and pulled her into an embrace, kissing the top of her red head. "It was Snape who betrayed us," he said quietly, but everyone heard it. 

            Neville had made his way over to Luna, and stood before her timidly. "Are you okay?"

            I haven't the foggiest. "Yes," she said, taking his hand in her own. "Can we take a walk?"

            "Sure…"

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **October 21, 1997**. "What is it, Luna?"

            "I forgive you."

            "What?"

            "I forgive you."

            "You… you do?"

            "Yes."

            "Um… for what, exactly?"

            "I think you know."

            "I… you mean…"

            "Yeah. For that. For anything, really."

            "Thank you. You don't, you can't know how much that means to me."

            "Maybe you're right, but I think I do."

            "Maybe… How… how did you, er, decide that?"

            "Harry. Ginny. Snape… I don't know. I just realized that what you did was wrong, you know? Really wrong. But what matters is how you feel about it. You cried because you suddenly knew that the darkness was inside of you. But it was there all along, and we just didn't know it. We'll all been touched by the darkness, and it's in all of us, it's just a question of how we handle it. You… handled it poorly with Bellatrix, but you know that. You want to be on the right side, and by god I'll help you stay here."

            "I-I don't know what to say."

            "Then, I'll help you with that, too: I love you, Neville."

            "I love you, too, Luna. You know I do."

            "Sure! But it's still nice to hear occasionally."

            "I'll remember that."

            "See that you do."


	6. Unfettered: Draco Malfoy

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.**

Dark Days: Draco Malfoy

            **October 26, 1997**. Draco stared at his boots. His heart burned to turn his head to the left and regard his father, who was writhing on the floor beside him. The screams of Luscious Malfoy deteriorated into half-choked sobs, and finally into unrecognizable gibberish. Draco's cheeks were burning, and only through a force of extreme willpower did he keep the tears from spilling out. He was tempted to look up in front of him, where The Dark Lord sat on his throne, no doubt laughing quietly at the elder Malfoy. Next to him was Peter Pettigrew, employing his wand to perform the Cruciatus Curse, likely terrified out of his wits. _Someday I will make you suffer for this, Wormtail, I swear it._

            "Anger, young Malfoy?" The Dark Lord spoke up, startling everyone in the room. Pettigrew ceased his spell at the sound of his master's voice.

            Draco knew better than to look up without being first invited. He continued to stare at the ground. "Yes, my liege," he said bitterly.

            "Whatever for?" The voice was taunting, hoping to illicit a response.

            "I-I dislike this, my lord," Draco managed, pushing his murderous thoughts to the back of his mind. Unlike his half-witted nemesis from school, Draco had excelled at Occlumency, almost to the point of rivaling his master.

            "And why is that, you simpleton? Do you think this punishment undue? Do you dare to question the judgment of Lord Voldemort?"

            Draco searched frantically for a proper answer. "Of course not, my lord."

            "Face me like the proud Deatheater you aspire to be!"

            Draco rose to his feet quickly and leveled his head with the throne in front of him. They were in a very large room, lit only by torches burning with green light at the perimeter. The throne was set in the middle of a large circular dais, with four stone steps all around the edge. Beside the throne was Pettigrew, trembling in fear, as was typical. In the throne was The Dark Lord himself, resplendent in green and white robes. Nagini coiled around the entirety of the throne, her head resting on top, above and to the left of their master's head. 

            "Continue."

            "I would never question your judgment, lord."

            "Then why are you angry?"

            Draco nearly smiled, proud of the answer he had concocted. "It galls me to see this punishment handed out by such a poor excuse-for-a-wizard as that," he growled, turning his eyes venomously upon Pettigrew.

            The Dark Lord laughed aloud. _He must know it's a lie! _"Tell me, little Malfoy, do you think yourself a better wizard than my cowardly assistant here?"

            Draco swallowed, dread filling his heart. He was suddenly aware of the trap he had fallen into. Two choices lay before him; one lead to great personal suffering, the other to harming someone he loved greatly. _But my failure won't preserve my father in the least.  _

"Yes, my liege, I do."

            "Very well. You make take his place," The ruler cackled from his seat on the throne.

            Draco took deliberate strides up the steps onto the dais, being sure not to show any sign of weakness. He stepped in front of Pettigrew and used his left arm to force the small man aside. He stood in the spot occupied previously by the animagus and turned to face his master again. "Shall I proceed?" he asked. _Please don't make me do this_.

            "Draco…no…" Luscious Malfoy sputtered from the ground, still grimacing from the memory of pain. 

            "Quiet, old man," Draco growled. Please dad, _just hold your tongue if you know what's good for you!_

"Go ahead."

            "Crucio!" Draco screamed. The rest melted into oblivion. 

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **October 31, 1997**. Draco awoke with a start and sat up in bed, cold sweat dripping off of his face. At first, the darkness of his chamber was indistinguishable from that of the Throne Room, and it felt like a blade of ice was sticking through his chest. Beside him, the pale body of Pansy Parkinson stirred but did not wake. It was only then that he knew where he was. It was very early in the morning of Halloween Day; he was pleased to realize that he was in his own bed, and he took great gulps of the cool air around him in relief.

            He had pleased the Dark Lord that day, he was pretty sure of it. His father had been less than ecstatic about the event, but in the end he had understood. In fact, his master had deemed Draco worthy of a great opportunity: he was to play the lead in a large battle that would bring great victory to the Deatheaters. It was to begin later that very day, Halloween night.

            Draco got out of bed, strolling across his spacious chamber to the window. He did not bother to grab a robe to cover his nakedness, but merely shivered in the cool air. His was the only room in Slytherin Common to contain a window; giving him a bird's eye view of the Forbidden Forest, monstrous and teeming with dark life. It was, of course, enchanted; there were no real windows in the dungeons. 

            He knew that the other Houses at Hogwarts had group dormitories for everyone, where each student was given the same kind of bed. He was thankful indeed that the Slytherins were not such fools. There were two group dormitories, of course, holding many of their students, but the strongest and most distinguished of their House were given elegant chambers of their own. As the student head of house, Draco was given the master sweet. He had found that Pansy, like most of the girls in their house, preferred his bed to the group dormitory.

            But Pansy was his favorite. Her mischievous eyes, her pale white curves, the high-pitched moan that he alone was privy to the intimate moments of the night… it was all an intoxicating drug to him, bringing a sly smile to his lips and nearly satisfying him.

            _Nearly. But not quite. _

            Draco yearned for another, and if the evening went his way he would bring her back to his bed the next night, and make her his. He would wear her down and master her, until her protests died out and she laid her beautiful red head on his chest and submitted to him.

            Draco smirked at the thought, but put it aside. First, there was business to be attended to. First, there was a great battle to be fought. First, there was power to be gained. 

            Draco returned to his bed, and lay down on his back. Beside him, Pansy awoke and mumbled his name, almost incoherently. She rolled over and put her head on his chest, falling back asleep almost instantly.

            _Nearly. But not quite. _

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **October 26, 1997. **"What do you expect to gain from this, my son?"

            Draco sighed with obvious frustration, hoping that his father had heard it. He had alone in his room, packing his things for his return to Hogwarts. Earlier in the day he had traveled, via the Floo Network, back to Malfoy Manner, where the Dark Lord held the most recent meeting. He would return in just a few minutes to school, and was impatient with the untimely interruption.

            Luscious Malfoy stood in the doorway, leaning against the wall. In truth, he did not look well. His face was normally pale, a hereditary trait that the Malfoys had been proud of for generations. At that moment, he looked sickly as if at any moment he might collapse. Half an hour of persuasion by the Cruciatus Curse will do that, though. 

            "What do you mean?" Draco hissed, glaring at his father.

            "Draco, I have raised you from an early age to value power," the old man spoke with difficulty. "I have failed at… at a great many things in your education, but I have always told you to keep your eye on the prize. The Malfoy family has always been prudent in it's choices of friends, and I did not hesitate to join forces with our present Master. The Dark Lord knows that I do not love him; would not ask it of me. Would not want it from me. If he were weak, we would desert him, and he knows this as well."

            "What… are you saying?" Draco could scarcely believe his ears. 

            "I think you have erred, my son, from the path of the Malfoys."

            "Come again?" Draco asked, incredulous.

            "I think you've made a mistake, my son. Remember that out allegiance to our Master lasts only as long as his usefulness to us."

            "That's no allegiance at all!" Draco shouted, slamming his fist into the headboard of his bed. A sensation of pain tingled in his skin, and he realized that he was shaking with fury.

            "Precisely. And as such we can proudly claim our independence. So I ask again, my son, what will you gain from this dangerous mission?"

            Draco turned away from his father, turning his eyes upon the stone cauldron that lay in the corner of the room. It had been specially crafted for the attack, and with it he would bring his enemies to the ground. "I will be granted a great boon," he said simply.

            "His words, or yours?"

            _His_. "Mine," Draco growled. "Something I have wanted for some time; a tremendous opportunity."

            Luscious chuckled; apparently a painful exercise as it soon gave rise to a bout of aggravated coughing. "And would this opportunity you speak of further aid your Master?"

            "It might," Draco conceded. "But that is of no concern to me. I merely want the chance to…" _Prove my worth?_ "Destroy that which is most odious to me."

            "Harry Potter?"

            "The same."

            Luscious said nothing for a moment, but even with his back turned Draco could sense the old man shaking his head sadly. "And what will you gain by this?"

            "To kill Harry Potter would be not only my greatest pleasure, but my greatest triumph. And then, perhaps, we will see who is Master and who is Servant."

            "I hope, my son, that things will work out for you as you expect."****

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **October 31, 1997**. "Glorious days have come upon us," Draco proclaimed. He stood behind the lectern in the Slytherin common room, delivering his speech to the entire house. He had installed the lectern himself, so that he might address the House at meeting times. He had assumed the leadership of the group, even more important ever since Potter and Mad-Eye Moody had assassinated Professor Snape. The present moment was to be the pinnacle of his leadership, he knew. 

 "For those of us who are pure of blood and strong of will, these days are filled with opportunity. Great events loom before us, merely waiting for us to find them and fill in our roles. Lead by the most powerful wizard since the one whose name we all share, we will build our bright future, starting this very day."

Draco paused, allowing the curious faces in front of him to absorb the weight of his words. The only sounds to be heard in the entire dungeon were the crackling of the flames in the fireplace. "The war has been brewing for longer than our lives, and tonight it reaches its' fruition. Tonight, our Lord will begin the final battle, and will throw off the yoke of servitude that has plagued us all our lives. Tonight, we have been given the opportunity to show whose side we are on, to prove our loyalty to our master. They have told us for years that we are too young to get involved in the war, and we have watched as our parents and brothers have gone out to prove their worth. Tonight, we will declare that we are ready, as well."

Draco scanned the faces in his audience shrewdly. It was imperative to find those who were not prepared to give their lives in service to the Dark Lord. It would be far better to discover these weak links now, rather than to have them exposed in the heat of battle.

"So I will pose to you all a simple question: are you ready to devote your life to our master?" Draco watched them in silence. Some shook their fists in vehement support; others simply nodded and tried to fit in. A few looked surprised and worried. He was concerned about these, of course; but he'd learned that the best way to inspire devotion was with fear, and he knew how to cultivate that.

"But don't bother answering it," Draco said, leaving the lectern and approaching the mass of students. A smile played across his lips as he pulled out his wand. "Instead, if you are ready to take the next step, and to give your allegiance to the Dark Lord, simply step across this line." He then pointed his wand at the ground to his left, muttering "Loyalitus!". A beam of green light followed the tip of his wand in an arc across the room, drawing a line between him and the rest of the students. As soon as he had finished the motion, tall green flames shot up eight feet in the air, so that Draco could only see the rest of the Slytherin house through them. 

"Fear not!" he shouted through the fire. "Step on through to join our sides; the flames will not harm you at all." _At least, not if you are true to our cause_. 

Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle stepped boldly through the flames, emerging on the other side unscathed and with a look of determination in their eyes. These three had, of course, been informed of the plan beforehand, but they were quickly followed by Blaise Zabini, Milicent Bulstrode and a few others who had not. Within a minute, every single Slytherin had crossed the line without incident, save only Malcolm Baddock, a timid fourth year. 

Draco sneered in disgust. He'd even heard that Baddock was a half-blood. Seeing that all attention was on him, the fourth year stepped into the flames, and then screamed and stepped back, clutching tightly his burnt left hand.

Draco sighed. "Malcolm Baddock, your blood and your heart are not pure," he pronounced, drawing all attention to himself. He glanced at Goyle meaningfully. "Kill the spare."

Goyle giggled a little at the opportunity, and then turned to Malcolm. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted, shooting green light at the unsuspecting defector. Malcolm Braddock was dead before he hit the ground. A few stifled gasps followed.

"Does anyone object to our actions here?" Draco asked, turning his gaze around the crowd, savoring the fear and obedience about him. He brought his eyes to a halt on Graham Pritchard, another of the fourth years, and a friend of Macolm's. "Graham?"

"No, sir!" Graham said immediately.

"Then you understand the necessity of what we do here? No one wants to kill, Graham," Draco evinced, enjoying himself thoroughly. _Unless someone leaves me alone with old scarhead for a few minutes…_ "But anyone who stands apart from our Lord is our enemy, and it is our duty to stop them. Is that clear?"

All around him, he heard murmurs of assent. It was as if the gravity of the situation had finally sunk in to the Slytherins. Many students had talked of revolution, of striking against the establishment in small ways as well as large, had even spoken subtly in support of the Dark Lord. None had ever taken action in that direction, and none had ever taken a human life. Their fear was palpable; Draco could see looks of terror and concern on their faces. _Are they ready? They will have to be!_

"Very well, it is time for the next phase of our plan. Dispose of the body." Draco pointed his wand at the towering green flames, and muttered "Finite Incantatum", and the flames dispersed. He walked across the room to still-roaring fire, and tossed in a handful of Floo powder from the mantel. Without hesitation, he muttered "Hog's Head!" and stuck his head into the fire.

Inside the drab bar, Wormtail sat waiting with a group of sour-looking youths. Many of them were drinking from amber pint glasses and smoking muggle cigarettes. They all looked like brothers; whether short and fat or tall and lanky, or anywhere between, all of them seemed to have the same dark hair, bushy eyebrows, and brooding expressions. 

"Wormtail! Are you and your troops ready?" Draco boomed, pleased with the start he gave to the timid Deatheater. 

Peter Pettigrew returned a look of cool resentment. "Yes, Malfoy; we are ready. We have the supplies," he sneered. Draco guessed that he was not pleased with his assignment: to be the overseer for this particular front of the attack. In truth, the renegade Gryffindor would have been pleased to be away from the other, far more dangerous attack, but seemed aggravated at being put under the command of one so young, so new to the cause. 

It would be prudent, from a leadership perspective, to be sensitive to that feeling. However, Draco had other plans. "Keep your attitude in check, turncoat," Draco hissed. "Remember which of us the Dark Lord put in charge of this mission. As I recall, you are here merely to bring our Durmstrang contingent to the scene."

Pettigrew said nothing, but trembled a little. Draco could not tell if this was from fear or anger. It did not matter much. 

"Go ahead, bring the students through!" Draco bellowed, and pulled his head back into the Slytherin Common room. He turned back to his classmates, addressing their unasked questions. "My soldiers, we have guests tonight. Among them are one servant of Our Lord's, although perhaps the lowliest among them." Draco noticed with pleasure that the shunned Deatheater had stepped through the fire in time to hear that proclamation. "The rest are veterans of the type of work we will be doing tonight; we welcome the proud soldiers who overthrew their own school, Durmstrang."

The students stared with frightened curiosity at the new arrivals, which were pouring in from the fireplace quickly. Pansy Parkinson, on cue from Draco, starting applauding enthusiastically, and within a few seconds the room was abuzz with a ragged cheer. 

"Very well, now that everyone is here, we can begin our plans," Draco announced, gesturing behind him. "First a head count… How many have you brought with you, Wormtail?"

"All twenty-four," came the reply.

"And there are forty-five of us already here. Er, excuse me, forty-four. Brings us to sixty-eight fierce soldiers and one mostly-worthless Deatheater," Draco said, eliciting a wicked laugh from Crabbe and Goyle. "Not as much as we had hoped for, but it will have to be enough."

There were, he knew, roughly sixty-five other students in the school, which was a rather small number. In the days of the war, many students had been pulled out of school. Dumbledore's death had brought about a rash of removals, bringing the size of the student body to an all-time low. Only Slytherin seemed immune to the problem. 

"We have a force that is approximately the size of the rest of the school, and we have the advantage of surprise," he declared. "We even have a few that are loyal to our cause among them, and with their help the students should not be a problem. Our Master has seen to it that McGonagall will be occupied elsewhere, but most of the faculty will remain behind. We will make them our top priority, starting with Professor Fizzle, who should be arriving shortly."

The sound of the name brought out a few sniggers. After Snape had been slain, McGonagall had appointed a skinny, awkward wizard named Jeremiah Fizzle to fill in the duties of instructor for Defense Against the Dark Arts and Slytherin head of house. He had never earned the respect of most of his students, and seemed fearful at entering the Slytherin House.

"After these few are taken care of, most of us will proceed to Gryffindor Tower, where our battle will be won or lost," Draco went on. "The Gryffindors constitute the majority of what is known as Dumbledore's Army, a small group of students who have been religiously practicing Defense Against the Dark Arts. They will be the most prepared of all, but we will prevail for we are pure of mind, and pure of blood!"

Another cheer went up, bolstered by a heavily-chorus of approval from behind. 

"There is are two students I want you to all be particularly aware of. One must die at all costs, and the other is to be spared," Draco said, making eye contact with several students. "Neville Longbottom has proven himself to be a true nuisance to the our cause, and the Dark Lord told me to ensure his death. I will give ten galleons to whoever takes him down."

"There is also a sixth-year by the name of Ginny Weasley who must survive. She is mine, my property: anyone who harms her will die by my hands," Draco went on, his voice hard. Pansy seemed ready to burst into tears, and Draco could only chuckle in response. "Are these instructions clear?"

At that moment, the door to common room swung open and Professor Fizzle swept in, wringing his hands in agitation. Draco gave a small nod to Crabbe and Goyle, who closed in behind the small wizard. In his state, the nervous teacher did not notice.

"Attention, my students!" he squeaked. "Attention, I need your attention please. Is everyone here?" 

"I believe we are all already gathered," Draco breathed, trying to stifle a laugh. Malcolm's corpse was nowhere to be seen.

"Very good. It's just that… Say, who are all of these people?" he asked suddenly, indicating the corps of Durmstrang students. 

"Some friends of mine, here to visit," Draco said. He could no longer contain his joy, and laughter spilled out of his mouth. "Grab him!"

Crabbe and Goyle were on him at once, twisting both of his arms behind him. The startled wizard had no chance to struggle.

"Now, what were you saying? No, let me guess. You can't tell us exactly what is going on, but we are in a state of emergency and it is imperative that we remain here in our common room until further notice. Is that right?" Draco cackled, affecting a poor impersonation of Professor Fizzle.

The captive said nothing, only stared at Draco in disbelief.

"Let me further guess that the situation you could not tell us about is an attack on the Ministry of Magic, and that Professor McGonagall has gone to fight courageously for our side," Draco sneered. "Is that right?"

"How… how did you know that?" Professor Fizzle stuttered. For a second, Draco was reminded powerfully of Professor Quirrell at his worst. 

"None of your concern," Draco snarled, showing his teeth to the artificial head of their house. "Suffice it to say that we have no intention of remaining in our common room at such an opportune moment. And, also suffice it to say that you will be in no position to argue with that or anything else. Crabbe!"

Crabbe, who had been holding secure the Professor's left arm, freed up on of his hands. He reached into his robes and produced a short, wicked-looking knife, with which he raked the Professor across the throat viciously. The two thugs let the wizard go, and he fell to the ground, blood spreading into a thick pool below him.

"A muggle knife, Crabbe?" Draco exclaimed, a note of pride in his voice. "I never knew you had a sense of style! But no matter." He turned to his army, and quickly divided the Slytherins into four groups, assigning ten each to Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy. "The rest of you are in my platoon.  Wormtail, you shall lead the Durmstrang contingent. We will travel in rank first to the Great Hall, where I believe most of the teachers will be congregated. Thereafter, we will divide, and most of us will proceed to Gryffindor. Wormtail, you will take your troops and lay siege to the Hufflepuff House. Does everyone understand this?"

The faces in front of him showed that they did.

Draco nodded, feeling the enthusiasm bubbling up inside of him. He motioned to Graham Pritchard, one of the members of his own group. "You. Go into my chambers and fetch the stone cauldron from in front of my bed. Bring it her immediately."

He made a surprised face but hurried to comply with orders. 

Fifteen minutes later, five platoons leaked out of the dungeons and proceeded upward toward the Great Hall. Draco walked at the forefront of the phalanx, followed by his ten soldiers in single file. Immediately behind him was Graham, carrying high a streaming banner for the Slytherin house. Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle were arrayed on either side, also leading streaming lines of untested warriors. Wormtail followed from behind with the northerners in a tight knot. 

No words were said; the only sound to be heard was that of their feet against the stone floor. It had started out as a timid patter as the many students attempted stealth in the dank corridors of the dungeons. As they reached higher ground, the noise grew progressively, until it was a deafening roar by the time they entered the school proper. Draco could see on their glowing faces the thrill of war, the rush of adrenaline, the unmistakable look of bloodlust. They threw caution to the wind, almost as a group, unconscious decision. _Glory is at hand._

If they had expected an overwhelming force in the Great Hall, they were vastly disappointed. The Hall was still decorated from the feast earlier in the evening, but the torches that had previously illuminated the room so brilliantly had burned low, casting long shadows in the wide Hall. Draco turned his eyes up to see the enchanted ceiling. Outside, the night sky was dark and starless, but an eerie green light pulsed above. _Aurora borealis, or something, no doubt_.   

The representatives from the faculty were two elderly witches; Professors Guntag and  Finch, sitting behind the staff table and looking horrified. They were both recently appointed by McGonagall to fill vacant spots, much like Professor Fizzle. It was evident to all present that this skirmish, if one might call it that, would be over quickly. T

"HALT!" Draco called, raising his hand above his right shoulder. The troops behind him stopped in an instant. "ASSEMBLE!"

The students behind him shuffled into the preplanned formation. The quickly grouped themselves into threes; one lying on the ground, the next bent over, the last standing. Every wand was pointed at the staff table. Draco was pleased to note that none of these groups were directly behind him or anyone else; no one would die from a friendly wand.

"An impressive show of force, captain," Professor Finch said, addressing Draco. "We will submit. What do you wish us to do?"

"DIE!" Draco shouted. At this command, a volley of killing curses was unleashed, all converging on the staff table. In seconds, the dust cleared, and there was little of the far side of the room still intact, let alone the two witches who had stood there. 

Draco addressed his troops. "Back in file!" he commanded, and they got to their feet and hurried to get back in their lines. "Good work. Our next challenge will not be so easy."

He turned to regard Wormtail and the Durmstrang contingent, which had not taken part in the assault. He walked over to them and had a private word with their leader. "Are you ready, turncoat?"

Wormtail glared at the barb. "Yes, we are ready."

"Then go directly to Hufflepuff house and lay siege. Have you managed to keep the password?" Draco sneered, enjoying the last moments of his command over Wormtail.

"Of course," the older man growled. 

"Then go. If you can manage in your ineptitude to conquer a few scared schoolchildren with the aid of seasoned soldiers, then await us there. If I have need of you in the siege of Gryffindor tower, I will summon your aid. Otherwise, await me in Hufflepuff House," Draco ordered, staring directly into the other man's eyes.

"As I was directed by my Master," Wormtail agreed. With those parting words, the former Gryffindor lead his troops off to Hufflepuff. Draco and his forty-three soldiers watched in silence until they had left the room. Only then did he turn to Graham and ask for the cauldron.

"Right here, sir," Graham squeaked, hobbling forward and setting it before him.

Draco quickly conjured a fire beneath the empty cauldron while the rest watched him curiously. 

"What's it for?" Pansy spoke up.

If he had not been so eager to unveil his plan, Draco would have been annoyed at her impudence. "For the destruction of Hogwarts," he breathed. He reached into his robes and produced a thick metal bar, approximately eight inches long and three thick. "I give you now, Severus' last gift." He dropped the bar into the cauldron with a loud metallic twang.

"What does it do?" Pansy asked, excitement evident in her voice.

"Inside that metal shell is a very old and very powerful potion. Put simply, it converts stone into itself at an exponential rate. It feeds on stone and replaces it with more potion, eating away stone while growing in mass until all its `food' is exhausted," Draco exclaimed, watching the bar eagerly in the rapidly heating cauldron.

"So… it will dissolve the cauldron?" Crabbe asked, clearly bewildered.

Draco sighed in exasperation. _How would we ever conquer anyone with such soldiers?_ "It will take about an hour for the metal shell to melt, and then the potion inside will be unleashed. At first, yes, it will eat through the cauldron. And then it will fall onto the floor and start consuming that as well. It will spread across the floor to the walls and the supports. Within half an hour of the time that the potion is loosed, there will be no more stone within miles of this spot, and Hogwarts will be no more."

"We only have… what, an hour and a half?" Crabbe persisted.

Draco cuffed him roughly on the back of his head. "While I congratulate you on your ability to add an hour to half an hour correctly, I would like to point out that the building will collapse in on itself long before that time."

Crabbe's eyes went wide in amazement.

"Therefore, I recommend that we be out of this building within sixty-five minutes, at least if we value our lives. And I, for one, do," Draco said loudly, casting his gaze about the Slytherins convened in the Great Hall.

"Does Wormtail know about this?" Pansy asked, her voice just a little above a whisper.

_Stupid girl. That's the crux of my plan_. "Of course," Draco replied, his voice not wavering one bit. _The Dark Lord will readily believe that all of their deaths were due to his incompetence. He'll never have cause to suspect me._

 "Now, MARCH!"

The army began to move in earnest, a sense of urgency suddenly imparted to their mission. They left the cauldron burning in the middle of the floor, and began ascending stairwells on their way to Gryffindor tower. Their flight was brief; they met no students on the way, and only one adult. 

Sybil Trelawney must have been wandering the halls aimlessly, useless as she would have been at patrol duty. She was clutching a ragged white shawl to her small body, shivering in the cool night air. 

"Professor Trelawney! What a delight to see you; I have a surprise that I have been dying to show you!" Draco exclaimed. "Seize her!"

            Crabbe and Goyle went instantly to either side of the terrified little witch, securing her arms. She did not struggle, even when Draco pulled off her glasses, and caressed her cheek softly with his fingertips. "And now, great seer," he said softly. "A fitting end for you!"

He reached into Crabbe's robes and took out the already-bloodied knife, waving it about menacingly. With a sudden motion, he then  plunged the blade into her left eye, eliciting a scream from her that made his heart tremble with pleasure. He proceeded to gouge out the other eye, feeling his skin tingle as hot blood flowed down his hand. "And now a prophecy from me, just for you. You will die, on Halloween night of this year, by the hand of your student!"

            "You must pause, Malfoy!" Professor Trelawney shrieked. "The future is open to me in this moment, blinded though my physical eyes might be. The night that first you take life is the very night that your life will be taken!"

            "Doddering old fool!" Draco scoffed. "Do you think your useless sayings will save you from the might of the Greatest Servant of the Dark Lord? Avada Kedavra!" 

            Trelawney toppled to the floor, her final prophecy uttered. Draco paused a moment to consider his first killing. It was… exhilarating. _But …Could her words have been true? Or just a pathetic attempt to save her own life? No time to consider that now; the wheels were already in motion._

            Draco gave the signal to his troops, and bellowed "To Gryffindor tower!"


	7. Old Faces and Usurpers: Alastor Moody

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.**

Dark Days: Alastor Moody

            **October 30, 1997**. Alastor Moody cast his magical eye about, searching the room for anything amiss. Gray shadows mingled with glossy white images, showing everything contained in every shelf, cabinet, and chest in the room and beyond. He sighed with a sense of relief and plopped down on the narrow mat, pulling off his boot and massaging his sore foot. Grumbling quietly to himself, he then rubbed the flesh above his wooden leg, which had begun to swell painfully. _Merlin's Beard, I'm getting too old for this._

He had just returned from a mission in downtown London, which had him walking the dark paved streets most of the night but not finding any actual quarry. After four exhausting hours, he received an owl from McGonagall to give up and return to headquarters. The Deatheaters were apparently no longer anywhere in the area.

A small scratching noise from the corner of the room caught his attention, and in a fluid motion Moody whirled around to face the attacker, his wand pointed at the sound. In front of him, the chest of drawers towered menacingly. He examined this with his magical eye, seeing a glowing ghost of a rat underneath the dark gray form of the chest. "Accio rat!" he hissed, and reached out his hand to catch the startled form as it zoomed toward him.

He held the rat up to the light and examined it with his good eye. He had not seen the rodent when he scanned the room: it must have snuck in while he was taking his boots off. It was gray and filthy; skinny and sickly. Eyeing the creature with contempt, he prodded it with his wand, giving off a small bit of blue-white light. 

The rat blinked its shiny black eyes at him, more befuddled than ever. "Not an animagus, apparently. " he muttered to himself. He put both hands on the rodent and twisted it sharply, until a small crack was heard. He tossed the dead rat into the wastebasket, and went about removing his coat, knife, and utility belt. He changed into his pajamas, slipping his wand into the loops he had sewn on to the outside of the right thigh. He lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

Sleep would come, he knew, before too long. Within an hour or two, his mind would stop whirling and he would dream fitfully of wide-open green fields and of better days. 

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**October 31, 1997. **"A Halloween party?" Moody growled, pronouncing each word slowly, his voice dripping with disgust. He stared across the dinner table at Nymphadora Tonks, who glanced timidly away, a bit of lettuce lodged in between her two front teeth.

"Sure, why not?" she asked innocently, shrugging.

"I can make you a pretty impressive list of why not!" Moody exclaimed. "We're at war! Our missions are failing, our friends are dying, and our chances are fading. These are the darkest times we have ever faced, girl -- this is no time for celebration!"

Tonks paused, her fork halted in midair in front of her mouth. Her eyes darted nervously over the bit of salad, as if trying to decide whether or not to ingest it. "I think that's all the more reason for something… well, upbeat." She plunged the food into her mouth and began chewing vigorously.

Moody scowled. _Child, what do you know?_ "I get it. A morale booster, right?" He could scarcely contain his outrage.

"Yeah, something like that," Tonks answered, smiling brightly as if he were convinced.

"Let me tell you something, rookie," Moody responded, putting a sarcastic twist on the last word. "In the face of You-Know-Who, when the Deatheaters are laughing their fool heads off at you, your precious morale isn't going to save you then!"

Tonks frowned, abandoning the idea. "No sense it having it, really; you'd only depress everyone all over again."

"Yeah, and maybe save all of their lives in the process!"

Moody reached into his robe and pulled out a small hunk of bread. He sniffed it cautiously and then bit off a chunk, chewing thoughtfully. They sat there, not saying a word but merely glaring at each other. 

They were inside of a small room beside the main chamber of the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters. It had originally been an office of some sort during its Muggle Occupation, but had been made into a make shift dining room. A door, which had likely been torn off its hinges elsewhere in the old warehouse, was placed on thin legs and served as the dining table. It was crude and shabby, but effective for their limited purposes. _Just like everything we have_. 

"When is Remus getting back?" she asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Moody reined in the series of biting comments that came to his mind. _Be civil; we're all in this together_. In the past few weeks, he and Tonks had been spending a remarkable amount of time together: some unusual quirk in the mission schedule meant they were both at HQ at the same time, and often alone. _Just a freak statistical coincidence. Unless… unless she's a servant of the Dark Lord, sent here to pester me unto… no, not likely. _"Lupin is out on assignment, just like everyone else. I have no idea where he is, what he is doing, or when he will be back," he said, for the umpteenth time. It seemed like every time he got on her nerves, or in fact when anything seemed to bug her, she would start asking about Lupin.

Tonks made a dissatisfied face. She, like many others, seemed to of think him a "senior member" of the Order, somehow privy to the plans of McGonagall. In truth, this was far from true; he knew that their leader saw him as half-insane and paranoid, almost to the point of being useless. As a consequence, he often found himself on seemingly endless errands that were far-removed from the true action. He had not seen any real action since he had happened upon Potter and Snape at Hogwarts. 

For that matter, he knew that Tonks had not been in the heat of things in some time herself. With that fact, it suddenly dawned on him why he saw so much of the young auror; McGonagall did not trust either of their abilities. They were here to baby-sit the other.

_Crap_.

"All the same, I wish he would get back soon," Tonks said, her voice thick with genuine sentiment.

"Tonks," Moody pronounced, surprising her by speaking at all. "I don't mean to bring anybody down. It's just that tonight isn't a good time."

"What do you mean?"

"It's Halloween night; there's evil abound," he said quietly.

"Superstition," Tonks replied dismissively.

"Maybe so, but it was on this night, sixteen years ago, that the Dark Lord wandered into the Potter home and killed a couple of our best wizards," Moody pointed out, ending her haughty attitude at once. "In fact, he's shown a real liking for this day over the years, and I think this year might not be any different. I can certainly agree that the Order's running pretty ragged, and maybe a celebration is called for. But, girl, tonight is no time to relax."

Tonks looked about ready to say something when they heard a knock at the front door. In truth, the entrance to the old warehouse was far-removed from their location, but they had enchanted the front door so that any knock would reverberate throughout the building.

"I'll get it," Tonks said, shooting out of her seat and out the door.  
            "Be careful!" Moody called after her, without thinking about it. "Remember: CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" He was not certain, but he thought he heard feminine laughter echoing down the hallways. _Foolish girl_. 

Moody cocked his magical eye in the direction she had gone. With a bit of mental organization, he had learned to interpret the various shadows in his sight into form and depth; he now focused his attention on seeing the front door. When they had set up shop in this warehouse, McGonagall had insisted on charming the door so that his eye could not pierce it. This limited his abilities, it was true, but it also kept unwanted wizards from peering in.

He watched as a white glossy form in the shape of Tonks arrived at the door, peered out through the enchanted peephole (there were no actual holes in the door, also for security purposes), and then swung the door open. He growled lowly; he was constantly reminding Tonks to be more careful about whom she admitted, to obtain the password first.

Gauging by the white shapes, he was fairly certain that it was Lupin and Hestia Jones that came through. Behind them came an unfamiliar skinny form. Moody growled again; he was not fond of newcomers in their secret headquarters.

Within a couple of minutes, the four of them had made it back to the makeshift dining room. Lupin, Tonks and Jones came striding in, carrying a few shopping bags. "Hey there, Alastor. Tonight, we've got a guest," Lupin announced.

"Who is he?" Moody growled.

"I'm Seamus. Seamus Finnigan. I was a student at Hogwarts, and a friend of Harry's," the thin boy responded in a thick Irish accent. 

            "Oh, a friend of the Golden Boy's, are you?" Moody snapped, turning angry eyes to Lupin and Jones. "Then I guess you're to be trusted. Because we all know that the Dark Lord's never turned anyone against us before!"

            Finnigan was taken aback; he looked back at Moody with a glimmer of fear in his eyes. 

            "He's been cleared by McGonagall," Lupin stated defiantly.

            _Well, then I guess he MUST be trustworthy_. "Fine then," Moody grumbled. "But know this; I'm watching you, boy."

            "Get off his case, Moody," Tonks said angrily. "He's had a rough couple of days."

            "What's the matter with you, boy?" Moody addressed Finnigan.

            "I just returned from me home, in Ireland," the boy answered, his voice unsteady. "My village was attacked, and almost everyone was killed. I escaped with me Mam. We… didn't know where to go."

            Moody felt his anger melt away. "I'm sorry to hear that, son," he said, as softly as he could manage.

            Finnigan nodded and continued. "We went to Hogwarts, and McGonagall sent me here. I've missed too much school this year to just be put back in classes, so I may go back next year to finish up and graduate. For the meantime, I guess we've both joined the Order."

            "Any enemy of the Dark Lord is welcome among us," Moody stated, earning appreciative looks from Lupin and Tonks. _But until you prove that's what you are, I will be watching you. _

            "Anyway, we're supposed to cook up a little bit of a feast tonight," Jones interjected, holding the shopping bags a little higher. "Nothing big, just a little better than we've been having around here. The rest of the group should be showing up soon."

            "Hmmm… sort of a party? A little morale booster of sorts?" Tonks asked, eyeing Moody triumphantly.

            "Something like that," Lupin agreed. "Minerva's idea."

            "It's a good one," Tonks said, punching Moody gently in the shoulder. 

            _Great. Get everyone together in one place at one time – makes it easier on our enemies. _

            Indeed, in the next half hour the old warehouse went from nearly vacant to teeming with activity. Mundungus Fletcher and Emmeline Vance showed up from patrol duty at St. Mungo's. Arthur Weasley showed up with three of his five remaining sons; the rascal twins and Bill. Igor Karkaroff and Viktor Krum came in with a few other Bulgarians. Sturgis Podmore and Potter appeared a little while later, having been sweeping through the Black Manor.   

            "Seamus!" Potter called, delighted. On his shoulder sat Dumbledore's Phoenix, Fawkes, looking rather comfortable.

            _Odd. I've never heard of a wizard taking another's familiar._

"Harry, it's good to see you," Finnigan answered.

            "What brings you here?" Potter asked.

            Finnigan's face fell. "They came and attacked my village. They killed everyone."

            Potter's face softened with genuine sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that."

            "I see… you've gotten a Phoenix," Finnigan said in a brighter tone, likely trying to steer the conversation away from death and suffering.

            "Yeah, it's Fawkes," Harry said quietly. "It was Dumbledore's."

            "Oh."   

Everyone joined in for the dinner preparations. They made a huge baked ham, mashed potatoes dyed orange, stuffing, refried beans, and a punch bowl of pudding for dessert.

            "Whew!" Tonks exclaimed, wiping the perspiration off of her forehead. "We could really use a house-elf for this sort of work."

            "LOOK NO FURTHER!" squeaked a small voice from below. "Here I is!"

            Moody, along with the other members of the Order, looked down to see Dobby standing on the ground, smiling broadly.

            "What is you needing, Tonks?" the amiable house-elf chimed in.

            "Er, could you set the table, for maybe… twenty five people?" she asked hesitantly.

            Dobby snapped his fingers, and the table was magically set for twenty-five in the middle of the large gathering room.

            "Man, making dinner is a lot easier when you're around," Tonks observed.

            Dobby beamed.

            Within minutes, dinner was served. Moody, who had just dined on his supply, declined any further (untested) sustenance. He was content to look on as the hungry members of the Order gorged themselves. 

            "Hey," Fletcher said suddenly, looking all about the crowded dining room in confusion. "Where's McGonagall?"

            Moody whirled his magical eye about, sweeping through out the warehouse. He had become rather accustomed to doing a security scan of the building, and could accomplish it by then in remarkably little time. "Not here yet," he answered.

            "Hmmm, she's late," Fletcher observed, and dove back into his ham. 

            The exchange did not go unnoticed by the rest of the table. "You don't think something's… wrong, do you?" Tonks asked. 

            The rest of the dining room fell silent, turning to face Moody. _I'm almost sure of it._ "I guess there's no reason to assume that," he said slowly. 

            As if to answer his question, the fireplace on the wall suddenly ignited in bright flames. McGonagall's head appeared inside of it, her face drawn with worry. "I need everyone's attention, immediately!" she declared.

            Moody and several others got to their feet and rushed to the side of the fireplace. 

            "What is it, Minerva?" Lupin asked.

            "I have received an urgent owl from Fudge; the Ministry is under attack!" McGonagall's head answered. "The note says that the Deatheaters are attacking in force. It's the largest gathering of their kind we've ever seen."

            "So… this is it, then?" Lupin asked, running his hand through his thin hair. "The final battle?"

            "It appears so," McGonagall answered. "We have little time to talk. I will go and lock down the school shortly, and then join you there. Make sure that you are all prepared for battle, but do not act until I arrive."

            "Minerva-" 

            "Can it, Potter; wait until I get there," She repeated, and then disappeared into the flames.

            Moody, Lupin and Potter got to their feet slowly, the eyes of the entire room on them. "Alright folks, you heard the lady. This is it," Lupin declared. "This is the Final Battle. Minerva will be joining us shortly, and we will defend the Ministry of Magic. I'm giving everyone five minutes to prepare themselves, and then we await Minerva together. No one moves without her word, is that clear?" Lupin aimed his last comment, over his shoulder, but it was not clear whether he was addressing Moody, Potter, or both.

            "As you say," Moody muttered.

            "Perfectly clear," Potter replied.

            "Good, Dobby, would you be so kind as to clear the table for us?"

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **October 31, 1997**. They Apparated into an unused store room deep underground. Powerful spells cloaked the Ministry to present such magical access, but apparently they had suspended the field in a highly secret place or two, to allow for emergency access. _And this certainly qualifies as an emergency_. The room was almost pitch black, and completely empty save for an old, broken desk in the corner.

            "Alastor, are we alone?" McGonagall whispered. 

            Moody looked around, shifting gray shapes about in his head. "Yeah, looks that way. I'd say we have a couple hundred yards to ourselves."

            "Okay, then," McGonagall said, her voice louder. She cast a small lighting spell, illuminating the room. "We're going to divide into teams of four or so, with one leader in each group.. Seamus, you're with the twins and Krum, led by Lupin. Arthur, you're in charge of Bill, Angela Finnigan, and Mundungus Fletcher. Karkaroff and Podmore, go ahead and join Vance and Jones. Hestia, you're the leader for your group. Tonks, Potter and Moody are with me. Is that everyone?"

            "Yep," Lupin informed her. 

            "May I express my objection to being separated from Viktor?" Karkaroff spoke up.

            "As a matter of fact, you may not," McGonagall replied curtly. "I can't tell you what to expect out there, so at this point we're just going to arrive and respond. If I or any of the other leaders throw up orange sparks, we all bug out and convene at headquarters. Clear?" 

            "Clear!" Lupin, Arthur Weasley and Jones responded in unison.

            "Okay, good. Lupin, take your troops and set up a position on the periphery. Your job will mainly be surveillance; you're the eyes for the group."

            Moody grunted. This was the job for one man, not a team of four. It was clear that Lupin's job was not surveillance at all, but merely the preservation of the youngest members.

            "As you command," Lupin said, bowing.

            "Alright, go on then. Outside this door and to the left, you'll find an air shaft which ought to lead you to the top of the building under which the Ministry hides," McGonagall instructed. She held the door open and ushered them out.

            "I don't think I need to tell the rest of you what that was all about; I'll be damned if I'm going to let the youngest members of our group endanger themselves unnecessarily," she went on. Moody was not the only one glancing at Potter after this announcement. "Arthur, Hestia: your teams will be struggling against the bulk of the Deatheater assault. Take this passage to the right until it ends at a staircase. You'll find that it takes you into the heart of the Ministry. I don't know what you'll find when you emerge, so do be careful."

            Jones and Weasley lead their teams out the door and vanished down the corridor. "Which leaves the four of us," McGonagall said heavily. "We have two objectives. We will engage the bulk of the battle only as we need to. We must first try to find and secure Fudge. Thereafter, we will be… attempting to nullify their most powerful weapon."

            Moody was startled at her words; she had just as much as told them that they were out to kill the Dark Lord. Three pairs of eyes turned to Potter, who stared stonily back. 

            "Moody, give me a hand with this," she said, crossing the room to the desk. Between them, they slid the desk away from the wall to reveal a large fireplace. She lit a fire inside, and produced a bag of Floo powder, which she held up for all to see. "We will be going directly into the office next to Fudge's. I don't need to tell you that we may find our deaths on the other side, but I'm hoping it will be vacant. Either way, we will be plunged into action soon upon our arrival. We have no time to delay, but I want to make one thing clear first. Harry, it is not your job to kill The Dark Lord."

            Potter looked surprised, but nodded. Moody recognized the gesture; he had given it often enough himself, as a youth trying to placate adults. _Atta Boy. _

"Okay, I'll go first," she said, distributing handfuls of powder. "Moody, you're next and then Tonks. Tonks, be sure to give us a full two minutes before you come through in case we need to push the desk out of the way to make room."

            A minute later, Moody and McGonagall were throwing their combined weight into the side of the desk in the secretary's office. They slid it away from the wall and stepped into the empty office. In the distance, they could hear a battle raging, but they still seemed to be on the outside of it.

            "So far, so good," McGonagall said. "Say, Moody. I know that… well, things sometimes happen in a battle that one doesn't expect. If I, um, am taken, I leave you in charge of signaling the retreat."

            Moody's face brightened a bit; pleased to be given some real responsibility. "You can count on me," he reassured her gruffly.

            A few seconds later, they pulled Tonks and then Potter (who still had the Phoenix on his shoulder) through the fireplace. "Okay, team," McGonagall said breathlessly. "Follow me." She opened the front door of the office and stepped out. Moody followed with the other two into the abandoned hallway. They stole quietly across the carpeted floors, watching carefully in every direction.

            "Something's wrong," McGonagall murmured to Potter as the group reached the door to Fudge's office.

            "What's that?" he whispered back.

            "There are all kinds of spells protecting this office; alarms ought to be going off all over the place," Moody informed him.

            McGonagall found the door slightly ajar, and with a surge of bravery shouldered her way into it. 

            "So, what you're saying is that someone's already been here?" Potter guessed.

            "Yep," Moody said, stepping into the office. "Well, I guess we've done our first job – we've found Fudge."

            He may not have been secure, but he certainly was not going anywhere. Beside his charred and mangled corpse was an unmistakable green bowler hat.

            "Well, I wish it were not so, but I must say I'm not surprised," McGonagall stated. "Very well, then. Into the fire."

            She led them quickly back out the door, and they broke into a run down the hallway. Within minutes they arrived at large fountain room in the heart of the Ministry. The statues, which had been replaced following the battle between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord over a year ago, had been crushed anew. Under the broken pieces of these, Ministry wizards were taking cover and aiming spells upwards.

            The four of them looked upward to see the London Night sky. Several levels of building had been torn through, and a gaping hole larger than most houses gave a window to the outside. Deatheaters were zooming about on brooms, exchanging fire with Aurors and soldiers on every level of the Ministry. Up on the surface was the main knot of enemies, a group of roughly forty, sniping downwards. Behind them, immense figures ravaged about, tearing large chunks out of the building.

            "Giants!" Tonks exclaimed. 

            "What is he playing at?" McGonagall exclaimed. "Giants? In the muggle streets of London? I can't see how we'll hide our existence now!"

            "I guess You-Know-Who isn't worrying about that anymore," Tonks remarked.

            "Fawkes," Potter said quietly. Moody looked over to see that the Boy-Who-Lived was addressing his familiar. "If you have any tears to spare for our soldiers, I'm sure they could use your healing." With that, he flung the bird out to find their wounded comrades. 

            Moody saw a pair of Deatheaters on brooms swoop in their directions, wands at the ready. "Get down!" he shouted, shoving Tonks and McGonagall behind a nearby concrete column. Potter dropped to the ground and rolled afterward, sending a flash of green light up at them as he did so. One of the Deatheaters fell off his broom, falling several floors before landing in the middle of the fountain. 

            "Avada Kedavra!" Moody declared, shooting at the other. The Deatheater managed to swerve violently at the last second and avoided the spell. He appeared to lose his balance, caroming wildly about for a second. Potter brought him down before he recovered.

            "Nice spell work," Moody muttered, impressed.

            Potter did not respond, except to growl "Where's Voldemort?"

            "Don't worry, son, you'll get your date with destiny," Moody said. "There's plenty here for us to deal with even without going after him just yet."

            "Harry, I told you-" McGonagall started.

            "Can it, Minerva," Potter breathed. "We all know what this is going to come down to."

            McGonagall scowled. "All the same, I wish you would let me do my job, and kill Lord Voldemort."

            Potter shook his head violently. "That won't do."

            "INCOMING!" Tonks shrieked.

            Moody took his eyes away from the escalating argument between McGonagall and Potter and looked out to see that a giant had leapt from the surface, several hundred feet above, and landed heavily in the middle of the fountain. Cracks spider-webbed out on the floor from where he had landed, but he seemed unhurt. 

            "Oh, crap," Moody breathed.

            Potter leaned around the corner of the column, and fired off a stunner at the giant, hitting it in the side of its head. 

            The giant appeared as if it had taken a heavy blow, wobbling a little on its feet. Them it turned and started charging at them. 

            "All together now!" McGonagall shouted, and all four of them let out stunners that coalesced on the beast, which flopped over on its back, unconscious.

            "We've got to get up there," Potter said, pointing up at the surface. "That's where Voldemort will be."

            "Harry, leave the Dark Lord to me!" McGonagall insisted.

            "Okay, you can have him," Potter said shrugging. "That is, if you get there first!" With that, he dashed out from behind the column and started firing green bolts at an incoming formation of Deatheaters on brooms. He took three of them out before he even reached the safety of the next column over. The other five in formation swerved away to avoid them, and Moody, McGonagall, and Tonks contributed to the attack, dropping three more of them. The last two turned upward in retreat. Potter knocked another off of his broom as they escaped.

            _I've never seen shooting like that before_.

            "Potter, where are you going?" McGonagall exclaimed. Potter had raced out into the open and pulled a broom out of the fountain, after untangling it from the legs of its Deatheater. He mounted the broom and lifted off, still firing at Deatheaters. "Come on, we've got to follow him!"

            But as soon as these words escaped her lips, two more Giants landed solidly in the middle of their floor. Moody and the two witches pressed back against the column, and between them and the Ministry wizards on the level, they managed to bring them behemoths down.

            "Broomsticks, quickly!" McGonagall ordered, taking a step into the open.

            Moody laid a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back. "Come on, Minerva; that's a trick for the youngins," he observed. _That, and the exceptionally foolish_. "We'd never make it to the surface that way. Let's go see if any of the elevators are operational."

            She did not seem pleased by it, but followed him back under the stone awning. They worked their way around the periphery until they came to an elevator. Just as they arrived, though, the door opened up and four Deatheaters emerged. Moody and the witches dodged behind another column. Moody reached into his belt and pulled out a small vial, which he hurled into the interior of the elevator. A resounding explosion sent flames roaring fifteen feet outside of the lift, and the bodies of the Deatheaters were flung away in peaces.

            "Maybe the next lift?" Tonks suggested, observing the smoldering wreckage.

            The next lift they reached was already ruined, the doors opened wide, and the cables snapped. The third lift they came to seemed operational, and with a sense of trepidation they boarded it, and rode up to the top, the last level before the surface.

            From that level, they had a much closer view of the battle. The throng of Deatheaters on top had thinned considerably, many of them on broomsticks or fighting on the levels below. There were still three Giants up top, tearing up whatever they could find, from muggle cars to pieces of the building, and hurling it down at the Ministry wizards. 

            "Over there!" Tonks exclaimed, pointing directly across the level. Arthur Weasley could be seen peering out from behind a corner, firing red spells at the enemy. Behind him three more shapes aided his effort. They seemed to be concentrating their attack on the Giants, sending up blasts of energy four at a time.

            "Where is he?" McGonagall exclaimed, slapping her hand against the wall in frustration.

            "Who? Potter or the Dark Lord?" Moody asked.

            "Either!"

            "I don't see them," Moody answered, his jaw dropping in astonishment _It can't be_. "But I do see a dragon." He pointed skyward, far above the battle.

            "Merlin's beard!" McGonagall breathed.

            Indeed, a Common Welsh Green was swooping down on the scene. On the back of the beast, they could barely make out the figure of a rider, wand out, casting spells at the Deatheaters.

            "He's on our side!" Tonks said.

            This appeared to be the case, as the dragon flew in low, letting out a giant stream of fire into the thick of the opposing forces. It was traveling at a great speed, and collided powerfully with one of the Giants. The head of the Giant came off neatly in the claws of the green beast. 

            "Bitchin'!" 

            Moody spun around to see that they were not alone; The Weasley twins had appeared on the level, with Krum and Finnigan in tow.   
            "What are you doing here?" McGonagall shouted, irate. "Where's Lupin?"

            "That's a fine question," one of the twins said.

            "Could be anywhere by now," the other echoed.

            "We gave him the slip," the first continued.

            "Right after we got here," the other finished.

            "There was no way we were getting cut out of the fight," Finnigan interjected.

            "Yah, ve vant to fight, too," Krum intoned.

            "I gave you strict orders!" McGonagall protested.

            "So you did," the second twin agreed. 

            "But we belong here. They killed our brother, and our mother, as you might remember," the first twin said, all trace of merriment gone from his voice.

            "Very well. Just do me a favor, and make sure you survive," McGonagall said through gritted teeth. 

            "No problem," Finnigan reassured her.

            "Less talking, more fighting!" Moody exclaimed. The seven of them took up positions of relative security, and began firing spells at the Deatheaters around them. The arrival of the dragon seemed to be working well in their favor; the remaining Giants had been slain, and the main group of Deatheaters scattered.

            "Stupefy!" Finnigan shouted, knocking a stray Deatheater off of his broom. The rider fell a couple of a hundred feet before landing on the floor in a disgusting heap. "At this point, we might as well be using the Killing Curse!'

            "I think… I think we're winning!" Tonks exclaimed, almost bubbly with joy. 

            "Don't get ahead of yourself, girlie. The enemy can still kill you just when you think you've attained victory," Moody warned. "Constant Vigiliance!"

            "Over there, attack!" McGonagall called, gesturing to two formations of flying Deatheaters who were attempting to engage the dragon.

            The group turned their attention to the defense of the dragon, though she hardly seemed to need it. Stunning spells ricocheted off of her thick hide, barely seeming to affect her. 

            "Well, fair play to Harry!" one of the twins shouted, pointing above them.

            Moody turned to see Potter, still riding his broom, appear from somewhere on the surface. He knifed through the air in a high-speed twisting motion, evading a bevy of spells aimed at him. He continued to press the attack, dropping Deatheaters every few seconds. Moody paused in his own attack, marveling at the prowess of the young man. Incredible!

            Tonks had apparently been right. One of the Deatheaters still on the surface raised his wand, and sent a shower of green sparks across the surface and cascading into the Ministry itself. All around them, the Deatheaters winked out in small flashes of white. _Surrender!_ Moody attempted to count how many Deatheaters had survived this attack, but could not.

            "It seems that the Anti-Apparation field has fallen," McGonagall observed.

            Moody watched the scene with a sense of immense relief; the battle was over. He kept his eyes on Harry, who had flown around behind the Deatheater that had sent the retreat signal. A green bolt flew from Harry's wand, laying the other man low.

            "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

            Moody turned just in time to see McGonagall topple over beside him. He returned fire immediately, bringing down the Deatheater lurking in the shadows. _Blast! How did I let him sneak up on us!_ He cast his magical eye about, doing a thorough sweep of the area a few seconds too late. The perimeter seemed secure; no more Deatheaters lay in wait.

            But the damage was done; Minerva McGonagall, leader of the Order of the Phoenix and Headmaster of Hogwarts, was dead.

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **November 1, 1997**. Moody poked his head into the room cautiously. Potter and Arthur Weasley sat on the ground, grim expressions on their faces. Between them lay the corpse of Percy Weasley. _Dark Days these are. _"Potter," he interrupted as quietly as he could. 

            "What is it, Moody?"

            "Where is Fawkes?" Moody asked. _If he's lost that bird…_

"I, er, sent him to be with Ginny. Right after the fight," Harry answered, sniffling. "I wanted to be sure she was safe."

            Arthur Weasley, whose head had been hanging, now turned his eyes toward Potter. His look was a mix of suspicion and appreciation. "You-you love my daughter, don't you?"

            Potter breathed in heavily, and looked the man in his eyes. "Yes sir, I do."

            "Thank you," Weasley replied simply.

            Moody decided that this situation needed no more of his attention. He shut the door to the room quietly and turned back into the heart of the compound. He quickly located Lupin and Tonks, who were attending to the injury of Jones, and reading the riot act to the Twins and Finnigan.

            "Don't ever pull that sort of stunt again!" Lupin commanded, his voice soft but severe_. The McGonagall way. _"We're lucky you both weren't killed."

            "Yes sir," the twins said in unison. At any other time, they likely would have argued; but the Death hung heavily in the air as well as in everyone's thoughts.

            "Owowow!" Jones exclaimed. She had received a nasty burn on her right shoulder, and Tonks (whose attention had wavered slightly) had just pulled the bandage too tightly on top of it.

            "Oh, sorry," Tonks said, turning a little red.

"Lupin, may I have a word?" Moody asked.

Lupin looked at him for a moment, then glanced at the twins. "Sure." They left the other five wizards and wandered into an empty corner of the large meeting room. "What is it, Alastor?"

"Do you have any idea who that dragon rider was?" Moody asked quietly.

Lupin shook his head. The dragon and its mysterious rider had disappeared just as quickly as they had arrived. The Order had not had enough time to say "thank you", much less obtain the identity of the rider. "No, no idea. But it's a good thing he turned up," Lupin observed. "Otherwise our victory might have been turned into grim defeat."

"Victory?" Moody asked, incredulous. "What do you mean?"

Lupin looked taken a little aback. "Well, we won, didn't we? We survived!"

_Poor, stupid man_. "I suppose, that if the goal of the Deatheaters had been the elimination of all resistance, then we kept them from it," Moody growled. "I think they were after something else though; namely the destruction of the Ministry. Yesterday, we were soldiers of the state, fighting to save the land from the Dark Lord. Now, there is no state to serve. Now, we're just rebels to be mopped up at his leisure. We thought this was it, the final battle. But it wasn't. I hate to say it, Lupin old boy, but we lost the battle tonight, because they accomplished exactly what they wanted to."


	8. Lessons In Courage: Hermione Granger

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.**

Dark Days: Hermione Granger

            **October 31, 1997**. Hermione sat by the window in the Gryffindor Common Room, wishing, for neither the first nor the last time, that Harry was there. It was not that she expected Harry to protect her, although he had proven at the Burrow that he was capable of doing exactly that. Nor was it that she felt free from attack when he was around; in fact, the reverse was more likely true. It was simply that he gave her a sense of content, safety.

The Late Professor Trelawney had once criticized the model student for her lack of an inner eye, but at times Hermione had to question that judgment. There were moments when she felt an inexplicable sense of gloom, as if evil things were about to take place. Harry had a sort of psychic link to Voldemort, and seemed to know when he was feeling especially treacherous. Hermione had never had any direct contact with the evil wizard, but sometimes she felt as if she too could feel his most sinister movements.

On Halloween night, Hermione felt it more powerfully than ever before. _Where does this fear come from? It's… irrational._ This she concluded, having searched her mind for the most obvious and searing condemnation of the feeling. Still, she knew that there were far and wide reports of near-prescient visions among muggles and wizards alike, the only difference being that wizards studied it in school. _Maybe there is such a thing as an inner eye…No, there couldn't be. Just more of Trelawney's tricks and word-games._

Several of her fellow Gryffindors had been taken by the old fraud's act years ago, almost to the point of hero-worship. Hermione had promptly lost all respect for those. In recent memory, though, with dark forces seeming to lurk around every corner, the old witch had seen a resurgence in her popularity. Even Ginny Weasley spent whole hours staring into the fire, repeating the inaudible words to some dreary prophecy.

Hermione found herself staring at the green lights in the night sky in front of her, filling with dread. It was not the Dark Mark; there was no structure or plan to the design. It merely looked as if someone had thrown a shiny green sheet up into the sky. It looked ghastly and unnatural. With a sense of disquiet she turned away from the window and looked about the Common Room.

If Hermione felt nervous, she was not the only one. Ginny Weasley was sitting in front of the fire again, not saying anything but merely watching the flames dance. Her Transfiguration textbook lay open next to her on the ground, looking somewhat lonesome. 

Neville Longbottom was sitting beside Dean Thomas, trying to go over some notes for Herbology. Dean's marks had been suffering that year, and Neville was blossoming into a prize student, in that category at least. He sat in front of Dean now, talking about Egyptian Fire Fungus, and gestured at a diagram with his wand. It seemed like his wand had never left his hand since his disappearance; Ron said he even slept with in clutched in his fist. Hermione had felt a little rebuffed when Dean sought out Neville for assistance; after all she was the best student in the House, if not the school. _Not that I really have time for it_.

Most of the magical community had ground to a stop in the wake of the coming war, but Hogwarts had not. Professor McGonagall worked hard to ensure that her remaining students were given the best possible education. No one could guarantee their survival; but McGonagall would be damned if they died ignorant.

Hermione could find some studious task to fill thirty hours out of the day if she really put her mind to it. There were NEWTS to prepare for at the end of the year, and she wanted to keep her grades up in order to keep an edge in the job market. _Whenever I decide what job I really want_. 

She had kept up the weekly DA meetings. Ever since Harry's departure, it was not entirely clear who held the leadership of the group. Some of the students looked to Ginny or to Ron or even to Neville. Of course, a few of them seemed regarded Hermione as their leader; they at least understood who was putting in effort. In whatever passed for free time in her schedule, she would be found reading text books on disarming spells, deflections, and protective charms. Every week she had new material for her hungry students, and every week they surprised her with their mastery of it. They had learned and honed most of the simple dueling and defense spells in a way she was greatly satisfied with, and she was not easily satisfied. _But what will happen when my students leave the classroom and go to war?_

Sitting in an armchair in the corner was Ronald Weasley, screwing up his eyes at a celestial map in preparation for a Divination Test. She was not sure, but thought she heard him muttering the word "tripe" repeatedly. He scratched his red head, a look of pure torture crossing his freckled face. Hermione laughed silently at the sight; pure comedy. _Ron, you can always make me laugh. It's one of the things I-_

_Stop. No time for that, not now. Ron is my best friend, not my… not anything else_. She was seized by a sudden impulse to run to him and take him her arms, hold him close, for this might be her last chance. She did not do this. _That's silly; where is my fabled Gryffindor courage?_

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **September 1, 1991. **Hermione  Granger watched, spellbound, as the ghosts slipped through the wall. She had been in Muggle schools for many years, and had never yet stepped into a Physics classroom. Even so, she was pretty sure that nothing in the Muggle world could explain that. _What have I gotten myself into? I should have gone to boarding school. Not Hogwarts, or any of those other wizard schools. I should have stuck with what I know; mathematics and spelling and essays. I'm clearly out of my league here. _

"Now form a line, and follow me," the old woman in front of them said loudly. 

            Feeling as though she would rather turn around and run back to train, Hermione followed orders. Something in the witch's voice made resistance impossible. Whether anyone else present really wished to, they formed a line and followed the deputy-headmistress through the doors, into the rooms that the ghosts must have been in. _What have I gotten myself into?_

Hermione followed the rest of the students into the Great Hall. All of her fears and concerns about her imminent new life vanished, replaced by astonishment. The room was lit by a thousand candles; all floating in midair, suspended by impossible forces. They cast a brilliant light around the room, in every way decorated lavishly with impeccable taste. The ghosts were there, too, floating about amidst the candles, adding a slightly spooky feel to the scene. Nothing else, in the room or in her previous experience, compared to the roof, though.

            She had read about it before, of course; the bewitchment of the ceiling so as to resemble the sky outside. She was still blown away by it: the very heavens were peaking in to watch over the room. _There are things in this world that are so majestic that even books cannot convey them. Maybe I did make the right choice in entering this brave new world._

            They came to a halt in front of the staff table, and Hermione looked over to see Harry Potter with his head craned back, staring up at the scene in bewilderment. "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside," she whispered to him. When he did not respond, but continued to stare upwards, she added in embarrassment: "I read about it in Hogwarts, A History." 

            Her attention was taken by Professor McGonagall, who had produced a stool and a beat-up old hat. She placed the hat on top of the stool and within a few seconds the hat began singing, a short song about the nature of the four Houses, and its own wisdom in placing students. Hermione clapped as loudly as anyone when the hat finished singing, again basking in all the wonderful new things in this world.

            Professor McGonagall gave them some instructions and then began calling out names. Each student wandered up to the front as their name was called, and placed the Sorting Hat atop their heads. The Hat announced its decision quickly and finally. 

            When her turn came, Hermione tried not to run to the stool, but felt herself awash with a blend of eagerness and nervousness. She pulled the overlarge hat over her head and sat down. "Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor," she breathed, crossing her fingers hopefully.

            "Gryffindor?" A voice appeared inside her head, startling her. There was nothing about this in Hogwarts, A History. "I don't know that I've ever seen a more perfect Ravenclaw. You're exceptionally clever, and well educated for a first year, but with an insatiable thirst for more knowledge. I wouldn't be in the least surprised if you were a direct descendant of Rowena herself."

            _Rowena Ravenclaw?_

            "Exactly what I'm talking about. I think we both know where you belong."

            _But I want to be a Gryffindor._

            "Among the courageous, the bold of heart? You're certainly confident, but if you think that's the same thing as bravery, maybe you don't know as much as we both think you do. But if that's what you want, I suppose I can't let you down. Remember, Hermione, courage is a skill, not a gift. Work on it."****

            *                      *                      *                      *

            **October 31, 1997**. Hermione had fit in pretty well with the Gryffindors in the years since her Sorting. _If Neville Longbottom could keep out of Hufflepuff, I could be in any House I want_. There had been times, of course, when she wondered if she was in the right place. The most poignant example had been at the end of her first year, when she and Harry had been stuck between towering columns of flame, on their way to find the Sorcerer's Stone. It had been a simple logic puzzle to figure out which bottle held what; one potion led back to safety, the other led to danger, and a confrontation with the Dark Lord. It was a far simpler problem to figure out who would go where. So Harry went on to meet his destiny, and Hermione went back, feeling as though she had been wrong.

            Hermione was pulled back into reality from bittersweet reminiscence when the Portrait suddenly swung open. Several Gryffindors, mostly from the lower grades, shuffled in. They were followed by a rather distressed-looking Professor McGonagall.

            "Attention, everyone," she stated. The Common Room fell into a complete silence. "Is everyone here?"

            Hermione glanced around, counting heads. _Twenty-two_. "Yes, Professor," she answered instantly. 

            "And here you shall remain," Professor McGonagall dictated, making eye contact with everyone in the room before continuing. "There is an emergency situation developing, I am afraid that I must leave here to attend to it. With any luck, I shall return soon. Until I do, YOU ARE ALL TO REMAIN IN THIS ROOM. Is that clear?"

            Everyone nodded, looking at each other worriedly. Professor McGonagall beckoned to Hermione, and she joined the Headmaster in front of the backside of the Portrait. "Outside," Professor McGonagall said quietly, swinging the door open.

            _Didn't she just say…_ "Yes, Professor," Hermione replied, following the old woman out the door. They were alone in the corridor, which suddenly seemed darker and emptier than she could ever remember previously. "What is it, Professor?"

            Professor McGonagall made a face of discontent, as if she did not care to answer the question. She sighed heavily and then replied: "The Ministry of Magic is under attack. It looks like… it looks like the final battle. The Deatheaters have pulled out all the stops; they're attacking in force. I'm about to lead the counter-attack from the Order."

            Hermione felt her legs go a little wobbly, and she leaned against the wall for support.

            "It's okay. We will be successful in turning the attack," The Headmaster assured her. Hermione noticed the lack of confidence in her voice, and it chilled her to the bone. "But we must be prepared for the possibility that we will not."

            _I can't believe I'm hearing this_. "What are you talking about, Professor?" Hermione whimpered.

            Professor McGonagall ignored her protest. "More specifically, you will have to be prepared if things do not go our way. It's… it's entirely possible that I will not return from this battle. It's entirely possible that the Deatheaters will meet their goal, and destroy not only the Ministry but the Order as well. If this happens, Hogwarts will be defenseless. They could well attack here and make a clean sweep of it." Professor McGonagall kept her voice level, but Hermione could see a touch of the same fear in her face that was threatening to overtake her.

            "I know that you have been very successful with Dumbledore's Army. I am proud of the preparations that you have all made," the older witch went on.

            _Why does it sound like you are giving your final address?_

"But you must not try to face the Deatheaters. If they attack tonight, take as many students with you as you can, and flee this place. Try to find some loose members of the Order or the Ministry. You must not fight, if you can at all help it. Do you understand me, Hermione?"

            _Only too well_. "Perfectly," Hermione answered, wishing that it were not true: wishing in fact that the situation had not been given to her to understand.

            "Good," Professor McGonagall breathed. "We shall both hope that I return here soon."

                                    *                                  *                      *                      *

            **October 31, 1997**. Hermione was back in front of this window, but this time she had her back to it. Her eyes glanced around the Common Room furtively, taking in the scene. Not a single Gryffindor had gone to bed since Professor McGonagall's announcement, and showed no sign of doing so. The room was abuzz with anxious words and dire speculations. Hermione rubbed her Prefect Badge nervously. _Someone needs to restore order here; there's no reason to worry, right?_

            "What was that little tête-à-tête all about, 'Mione?" a voice asked from her side.

            _Ron_. "Huh?"

            "Your talk with McGonagall. Did she tell you what this is all about?"

            Ever the impetuous one. It's cute, really. For a friend, that is. "Yeah," Hermione answered, not wanting to talk about it.

            "Well then, spill it, 'Mione!" Ron muttered urgently.

            _I love that name_. "It's… Nick, what is it?" Hermione stopped in mid-sentence to address the Gryffindor Ghost, who had just wandered into the common room in a state of extreme urgency.

            "Catastrophe! It's war! It's war!" he shouted, quickly silencing all the other conversations in the room.

            _Did Professor McGonagall tell him, too? And why is he sharing it with all the students? _

            "Peter Pettigrew and a band of soldiers are attacking Hufflepuff House!" Nick screamed, drawing outraged gasps from many in the room, including Hermione. "And Draco Malfoy is marching all the Slytherins up to Gryffindor Tower as we speak!"

            Hermione felt her heart freeze in terror. "This is it, then," she said quietly. The whole room hung on her every word. "The war has come to us at last. The teachers are away, and Draco Malfoy is bringing to the war here to us, now."

            "It can't be!" Dean yelped, seeming terrified.

            "It isn't so unlikely," Neville retorted. "It was almost inevitable, in a way."

            "How long until they get here, Nick?" she asked the House Ghost.

            "Any minute!"

            "They will still have to get through the Fat Lady," Hermione said, nodding. "Nick, I want you to go to Ravenclaw. Find Luna Lovegood, and tell her what is happening. Make sure that she understands. Tell her to mobilize – no, tell her that I said to mobilize her soldiers, and to go and assist Hufflepuff in their time of need."

            "They aren't soldiers, they are just kids, like us!" Dean protested.

            "Not anymore. Today we are all soldiers," Hermione replied, her voice hard.

            "What about Gryffindor?" Ginny asked, sounding frantic.

            "We will manage," Hermione answered. "Until help arrives."

            "That's very brave of you," Nick spoke up. "But I think it would be wiser to bring the Ravenclaws here."

            "Why is that?" Hermione demanded, her voice sharp.

            "Well, there are more soldiers on their way here, and…  And I don't know that there is anyone left to save in Hufflepuff."

            _Merlin's Beard. Good-bye, my friends. And just ten minutes ago I was worried about Dean seeking out Neville for help instead of me.  _"Very well, then. Send them our way. Then go and watch Pettigrew. If they show any sign of joining the fray, I will need to know immediately."

            "Right away!" Nick shouted, and stole away on his urgent mission.

            "Okay, my fellow soldiers. The time has come to show what we have learned," Hermione spoke loudly, noting the complete attention that she was receiving. "Turn over every couch, chair and desk in the room and make them into a semicircle arrayed around the Portrait. Make sure that no one is in front of anyone else. Hide behind the ramparts and have your wands ready. When they find a way through the door, they will come pouring in: stun them quickly."

            "Stun them?" Neville asked. "I think we can expect them to use far worse spells against us."

            "Stun them, Neville," Hermione repeated, allowing no doubt to enter her voice. "I will not kill anyone if I can help it."

            Neville looked like he wanted to retort, but did not. The students began to turn over the couches and desks as ordered, sliding them into position. The work was interrupted when the Portrait swung open quite sooner than expected. All eyes rooted to the spot.

            "GET DOWN!" Hermione screamed, pulling Ron down to the floor beside her. 

            From the shadows outside the door, a bottle of murky fluid was given wings. It soared through the air and smashed into the hearth. Almost immediately, thick gray-green smoked engulfed the room. Within seconds, they could hear feet shuffling inside.

            "FIRE!" Hermione screamed, and only then was the smoke lit by blazes of red light.

            The intruders responded in vicious manner. Green lights were returning from the other side of the room, but it was impossible to tell how many found their target, owing to the thick smoke that had covered everything.

            "How did they get in?" Ron coughed, choking.

            "STUPEFY!" Hermione shouted. They had found their way behind a large couch, and she was casting the stunning spells around the corner in the general direction of the door. Occasionally the couch would lurch against them, when hit by a hurtful spell. "They must have the password," she replied simply a second later. _Which means that we have been betrayed._

            "What's going on out there?" Ron asked. "I can't see a thing out there!"

            _Me neither. _Hermione rolled over on her back and pointed her wand where she guessed the window would be and let off another stunner. She heard it slap against the stone wall. She aimed a little to the left, and then fired again. This time she heard glass shattering, and knew she had hit her mark. "Dispellitus!" she exclaimed, and the smoke began to drain out the window.

            The scene slowly came into focus. Ron was still beside her, and on the far side of him was Neville, at the other end of the couch. She could see that several other ramparts were manned by various other Gryffindors, the Creevey brothers behind the nearest, and a pale-faced first year between them. Between the many ramparts were scattered dead Gryffindors; their eyes open, their faces contorted in fear… _I can't mourn them right now._

            The action had died down after the initial burst of spells. It seemed as though everyone in the room had found their way behind some sort of wall or another, and the frenzy of attack had turned into an entrenched war of attrition. Most of the people in the room were peering around corners and letting off occasional spells. She glanced around wildly, searching for a particular face. "Where's Ginny?" she whispered fiercely.

            "What?" Ron snapped, a look of pure rage on his face. 

            Hermione put her free hand on his forearm to restrain him. "Hold."

            "Where are you Longbottom, you filthy squib?" A voice jeered from near the entrance. Hermione stole a glance around the corner, spotting a sea of corpses from both Houses. At the Portrait hole, more Slytherins were coming in. Hermione tucked her head back in time to avoid a flash of green.

            "Longbottom!" Draco's voice rang out again. Wherever he was, he must have felt secure."The Dark Lord has decreed that you must pay for the death of Bellatrix Lestrange!"

            Hermione looked over at Neville, who returned her a very worried, very confused face. 

            _How could he know about that? We told no one… no one, except… _Hermione looked around wildly, and this time located Dean Thomas and Ginny Weasley sitting behind a desk, on the wrong side. Dean had his arm around her throat, and clutched his wand in his other hand, a look of terrified elation on his face. _That's our traitor_. She had no chance to fire at him, as he was largely concealed behind the desk, and Ginny was between them.

            "Dean, you bloody idiot!" Hermione howled at the ceiling. "What are you doing, you stupid stupid fool! You're muggle born like me! They will use you today, and then kill you tomorrow for not having pure blood!"

            "Sod off, Granger!" Dean called back. "I have been granted a great prize for my service!" He held Ginny all the tighter, smiling viciously. 

            Hermione could scarcely breathe. The rumors of Dean's affection for Ginny were right after all. He had joined the other camp in order to get her.

            "I'll kill him!" Ron breathed, starting to get up. 

            Hermione held him down again. "You'd never make it across the room!" she hissed. "Sit tight and wait for our chance."

            Ron apparently was not the only one who would kill to keep Dean's hands off Ginny. Draco suddenly appeared beside the two of them and stuck his wand in Dean's side. 

            "What the-" Dean started, but got no further.

            "Avada Kedavra!" Draco stated, and grabbed Ginny before she could escape from Dean's suddenly limp arms. 

            _You deserved that, Dean. _

A lull in the action occurred then; it was nearly thirty seconds any more killing curses hit the back of the couch. Draco had apparently orchestrated a combined attack on that couch, having zeroed in on her location. The force threw the whole couch forward several inches. One of the wooden armrests banged into the back of Hermione's head, and her vision was filled with stars for a few horrible seconds. After a moment, the stars were gone.

            So was Ron. He had taken off in her moment of disorientation, and was racing across the room recklessly, diving from chair to desk in a rage to get to the place where Draco held Ginny captive. All around him green spells flew, but none found their mark. After a few anxious moments, he was on the other side of the desk from Draco and Ginny.

            "Where is he?" Hermione heard Draco call to his soldiers urgently.

            Ron nearly pulled it off. In a swift, deft maneuver, he hurtled over the top of the desk and managed to get behind Draco, safe from enemy fire. He threw a vicious blow to Draco's jaw, and Ginny squirted free, back to the Gryffindor side of the desk. No Slytherin fired at her.

            Draco recovered from the blow and began struggling with Ron. Hermione held her breath as Draco got his back to the desk and his foot into Ron's chest. She figured out his plan just as he kicked Ron hard in the jaw, sending the Gryffindor toppling over on his back. Hermione's scream was drowned out as a volley of green spells pelted his body.

            "No! No, god no, please no, don't let it be true, oh god no RON!" Hermione screamed, her voice choking in tears. "Please no!"

            "Oh no!" Draco's voice rang out in mockery. "Not Ickle-Ronnikins! Don't let it be so!"

            Hermione's heart had no room for hate, so overflowing as it was with pain.

            "Did we kill your little lover, Mudblood?" Draco taunted. "Did this pitiful excuse for a wizard mean something to you, Granger? Why don't you come over here and make me pay for it then?" 

            _Ron… no…_

            "Come on, Mudblood, I'll strike you a deal," Draco shouted, changing tacks. "Give me the squib, and I'll leave the rest of you in peace."

            Hermione snapped out of her reverie. _You too I will mourn later, Ron_. "Fat chance!" she exclaimed, finding her voice again.

            "That's a pity. Now we'll have to kill you all!" Draco laughed. Hermione could see that he was making some sort of gesture to his troops, but she could not discern what it was, exactly.

            That second, a pair of Slytherins broke out from their hiding places and charged toward her couch. She saw them coming just in time to duck her head back around the corner to escape the cover fire from the Slytherins. Neville, on the other hand, struck back. "Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!" he shouted, and Hermione realized that the pair of thumps she'd heard meant that he had hit his target.

            "Looks like someone over there has grown some balls!" Draco cried out in a singsong voice. 

His elation alone was enough to turn Hermione's stomach. _We've sunk to his level, and it pleases him_. She looked at Neville sadly, and he stared resolutely back. She found that she could not maintain eye contact, and looked away. Her attention was drawn by a bright red shape not four feet in front of her. _Fawkes? What are you doing here?_

            "My friends, I think we've found the squib," Draco called out, again taking Hermione's attention. He began gesturing and speaking in a whisper to his troops. Soon, he would be laying plans to swarm the couch and kill both of them. She knew they had to move; to remain where they were was death. Hermione looked about wildly. To her left was the entrance to the girls' dormitories. She could lead the rest of the girls up there, but the enchantment on the stairwell meant that the boys would be stranded. There was no such enchantment on the boys' stairwell, but the entrance to that was clear across the room, where Draco and Ginny were on opposite sides of the same desk.

            Hermione strained her ears to hear. She could not make Draco's words, but she could hear the sounds of spells cast out in the corridor. In fact, it was a confrontation. _Luna!_

Whatever Draco Malfoy had a mind to pull, he soon found his plans dashed. His soldiers were suddenly fighting an entrenched battle in the common room, while being wide open to the Ravenclaw attack in the hallway. Previously, it had been a sort of uneven impasse, with the Slytherins sure to better the outnumbered Gryffindors, although at a high cost. Now, however, they were squeezed between two sets of armies. 

            Neville, too, appraised the situation quickly. He peaked back around the corner and began shooting green light at the Slytherins. "Gryffindors, ATTACK!" he screamed. 

            Draco was trapped in crossfire and he knew it. He did not hesitate to issue one final order; sending his soldiers charging at Hermione's couch.

            Hermione began stunning the attackers in a state of near panic. Fifteen seconds elapsed in pure terror, as hordes of green-clad warriors raced toward her. The remaining Gryffindors were now standing and delivering a counter-strike. At the door, Hermione could see the first Ravenclaws entering the Gryffindor Common Room, stepping over the bodies of the Slytherins littered on the floor.

            Hermione could soon see little else except a cluster of green swarming in her direction. Bits of the mass fell off on either side, and the force diminished in strength as it approached. Finally, Blaise Zabini toppled over in front of her after being hit by one of Neville's spells. His head impacted heavily the stone ground less than a foot away, and Hermione thought she might have been hit with a chunk of tooth that sprayed out of his mouth.

            Behind Blaise was… no one. Silence slowly descended on the Common Room, as Gryffindors and Ravenclaws stood dumbfounded by the scene of carnage in front of them. Every bit of furniture had been turned over, and most of it had been smashed fragmented by spells. There was still a dim haze of green left over from the smoke bomb, and the air was tingling with the residual power of so many spells cast. There was a sea of dead bodies in the common room; Slytherin, Gryffindor and even a few Ravenclaw. No one was safe from the slaughter.

            Luna Lovegood, looking a bit taller but paler than usual, poked her head into the door and seemed to swallow whatever comment she was about to make. Beside her, Terry Boot patted her shoulder in a consoling way.

            Hermione had no more time for any of this. She got to her feet, stepped over Blaise, and then made her way toward the far side of the room. Luna was beginning to assure that the survivors were intact, but Hermione did not care: her only concern was for one who was not at all intact. 

Ginny had found her way back around the desk, and was squatting beside her brother, whimpering quietly. Hermione fell to her knees beside her, and only then did the tears come. She held Ginny and they howled together, and before she knew they were both clinging to the cooling corpse without any other care in the world. 

"Hermione," a voice said from far away. "Hermione? HERMIONE!" 

She looked over her shoulder with watery eyes at Neville, who was standing beside Luna. The Ravenclaw clung to his shoulder, her face pink but determined. _Lucky bitch._

"What is it Neville?" Hermione croaked, surprised at the sound of her own voice.

"We have collected most of the bodies," he told her, his voice stiff with formality. "We have not found Draco's body."

Hermione frowned. "Well, keep looking. It's possible he has escaped out into the castle, but I doubt it. He must be around here somewhere."

Neville nodded, and he and Luna turned to start giving orders to their troops. Hermione felt a sense of puzzlement that they were taking orders from her. "I'm going up… to his room," she told them with difficulty, eyeing the staircase in front of her. "I'll be back shortly."

She began to ascend the stairs, her legs feeling shaky. She tucked her wand into her robes and grabbed the railing for support. She took each step slowly, deliberately. She was not sure why she was going upstairs, to his room, but she wanted to get away from the dead body downstairs that she found herself unable to look at anymore.

She was jerked into awareness by shuffling sounds inside the seventh year dormitory. She pulled her wand and crouched low outside the door, peering in. Draco Malfoy was inside, rummaging about with his right hand, his left holding his wand at the ready.

Hermione felt anger surging through her. "Accio Wand!" she shouted, and before he knew what happened she was holding both wands.

"Mudblood!" he hissed, facing her.

"Villain!' she returned, standing up tall. She tossed his wand back down the staircase,  and pointed her own at his heart. _Kill him!_

"Are you going to kill me, Granger?" Draco asked, beginning to cross the small room toward her.

_Oh yes. Avada Kedavra! However, All that came out of her mouth was odd, sputtering noises. _SAY IT! AVADA KEDAVRA! He killed Ron, he took Ron  away from you! He must die!__

Draco was right in front of her, his hand reaching out for her wand. He was saying something, likely a taunt of some sort, but the world seemed to have gone silent. _Nooooooo!_

The tip of another wand appeared over her right shoulder, and green light burst out of the end of it. Hermione had enough time to see Draco's eyes widen in dismay before he fell over backwards, dead. 

Sound returned to the world. "Are you okay?" Neville asked, still standing behind her.

_Never been worse. "Yes."_

"It'll be okay," he assured her. 

_How can you say that? "I couldn't kill him, Neville," she said softly. "Even after he started this war, even after he killed… I still couldn't do it."_

Neville put his hands on her shoulder and swiveled her around to face him. He leaned his face close to her, staring intently at her. "Hermione, listen to me. You did not kill him because you are not a killer. It's just not in you. And don't ever regret that."

Hermione looked at Neville's round face, at his sad but hardened eyes, and believed him. 

"Do you know how he got up here?" Neville asked a few moments later, gesturing to the corpse on the ground.

Hermione made a grim face. "I think that he… used the last of his soldiers in a big charge to get at us. He couldn't have expected to get us, but it did give him a chance to slip upstairs."

Neville whistled. "I wish I were surprised."

"No, Draco was no hero, not even to his own." She felt her cheeks burning, a wave of new tears threatening to break through. 

"Hermione, I'm afraid you're going to have to hold it together for a little longer," Neville said tenderly, releasing her shoulders and looking away. "We yet have work to do. Peter Pettigrew and his soldiers are still in the castle. It's no good to sit and wait here for them to attack, either; that didn't work very well for us before. Luna and I think it would be best if we moved against them."

_Oh please, no more death today! "I suppose you're right about that. How many, oh god," she stammered trying to ask the difficult question. "How many of us are left?"_

Neville's eyes dropped to the ground. "Seventeen," he answered.

"Seventeen Gryffindors?" she asked hopefully.

Neville shook his head. "Seventeen in all."

Hermione felt as though the ground were giving way below her, literally. The look on Neville's face told her that he had felt it, too. She turned her eyes out the window to see that the sky only, and not the ground, was visible. 

"We're moving," she breathed in surprise.

"How is that possible?" Neville asked incredulously.

"I don't know. But I think maybe we need to get out of here," she said, grabbing his wrist and leading him down the staircase at a run. Halfway down, the castle lurched again with a deep groan, throwing them against the wall. They jumped the last few steps and emerged into the common room, where the survivors were looking about in confusion.

"What's going on?" Terry Boot yelled.

"I don't know, but I think the castle is collapsing!" Hermione answered. "We need to get out of here right now!" Several students began moving toward the portrait hole, but Hermione called them back. "Stop! We'll never get out in time, that way." She looked about wildly until her eyes fell on the small red bird, now sitting on Ginny's shoulder. It looked anxious, if that is possible for a bird. 

"Ginny! Come over here," Hermione said. She ran over to the window that she had previously broken during the fight, and broke out the rest of the pane. Ginny was now beside her with the Phoenix. "Everyone else link arms and grab onto us!"

The other children hurried to do as ordered. The castle mean while was making loud groaning noises – from the sounds, it would not be long before the whole thing went down. Ginny and Hermione grabbed onto Fawkes' feet, and everyone else latched onto them. 

"Is this everyone?" Hermione asked. There were roughly a dozen students congregated around them, pressed tightly together in a mesh of limbs. 

Neville nodded, his face lit with fear. 

 "Okay, hang on!" Hermione shouted. Something rather large must have given out below them, and she felt her stomach sink horribly. She turned to the small red bird. "Fawkes, please take us away from here!"

Dumbledore's pet seemed to understand, and began beating its wings heavily. A peculiar energy seemed to course through Hermione's fingers, and throughout her body, passing on to the others. Suddenly, they were airborne, outside the castle. After a few wild seconds, Hermione turned back to look at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Something was indeed wrong with the castle, as large bits of the first floor seemed to be missing, somehow. Everything on top of that was quivering and swaying, no part more so than Gryffindor Tower.

Without much notice, their House toppled over away from them, landing on top of the castle itself. This proved to be the catalyst for the entire event; the castle buckled and collapsed under the weight with a loud roar. The roof everywhere fell in, walls folded in, and everything dropped to the ground, spraying a plume of dust upwards.

_Hogwarts is no more. _

Fawkes, who seemed to be struggling under their combined weights, began taking them down in a wide spiral. Within two minutes of the time they had left the window of the now-defunct Gryffindor tower, the Phoenix had brought them in for a slightly rough landing.

"Thank you Fawkes. You've saved us all," Hermione said, softly petting the bird. He did not say anything, of course, but made eye contact in an understanding way. With a flap of his wings he left Hermione's fingers and settled back on Ginny's shoulder. _Curious. _

Neville, who had been staring at the wreckage that was once his school, began walking towards it, his wand still in his hand. His walk was slow and deliberate; he was not mounting an emergency rescue mission. They understood perfectly well that there was no one alive inside. Hermione and the rest of the survivors fell into step with him.

_Here we are; all that remains of Hogwarts. Beside her, Ginny walked with the Phoenix sitting on her shoulder. Luna and Neville were in the lead, followed by Lavender Brown, and Natalie McDonald (a fourth year from Gryffindor). Somewhere behind them walked the Creevey brothers, and the rest of Ravenclaws, led by Terry Boot and Mandy Brocklehurst._

Within a few minutes, they had reached the place where the front doors had once been. Neville and Luna stopped in their tracks, witnessing the panorama of destruction. Hermione walked right past them and stooped before the pile of rubbish that had been the outside wall. She reached out her hand and touched the warm stone.

"That may not be a good idea, Hermione," a strong voice ordered her.

Hermione jerked her hand back and looked up, into the wreckage, to see who was speaking to her. "Professor McGonagall?" she gasped, unable to believe it.

"Yes, my dear," the shimmering ghost in front of her answered, staring at her with pearly eyes.

"How- What are you- What happened?" Hermione said, having finally deciding which question was best.

"I believe that the battle at the Ministry has likely concluded. I daresay that things did not go well for us, particularly for me," the apparition before her said, gesturing to her shimmering body. "The Ministry of Magic has been destroyed, almost as completely as Hogwarts will be. There are few among our government that are still alive. The Order of the Phoenix has also suffered heavy losses, but will remain intact."

"And… Harry?" Ginny asked, her voice tremulous.

"The Boy-Who-Lived was still alive when… when I was struck down," the ghost answered. "After Albus perished, I thought it was a great pity to have lost his services forever, and I promised myself that, that if my time came, I would not leave you in this battle. So I did not cross over to the other side. I came back with the intention of helping in these Dark Days. Little did I suspect that I would come back and find this." Professor McGonagall gestured to the pile of rubble behind her. 

"What happened to our school, Professor?" Neville spoke up.

Professor McGonagall made a very bitter face. "It was a very old potion, known as the Stoneburner Draught. It basically eats stone away. Draco must have started it on the ground floor. I could have stopped it if I were here. As it is, Hogwarts has been destroyed. No one is left alive inside."

Hermione turned her gaze over the breathtaking destruction in front of her eyes. Bits of the castle were still in tact; the curve of a wall here, a segment of hallway there. Little by little the pieces were still collapsing in, as the pile slowly leveled itself out. Soon, the Stoneburner would eat the rest of it away, leaving only the contents of the castle in a beaten up jumble. Energy, in a variety of colors and intensities, was zapping through the broken chunks. In the distant, through the haze of still settling dust and magic, Hermione could see a variety of white shapes floating about.

"Can you see the spells discharging out there?" the ghost went on, with a jerk of her head behind her. 

"Yes," Hermione answered. "What's happening?"

"As you know, there are, or rather were, a variety of spells protecting Hogwarts from attack. However, they never anticipated an attack from within our own school." The ghost seemed to be choked up by the events, and held her silence for a moment. "It was unthinkable, really. But, at any rate, the spells on the school were all tied into the very building itself; not in the desks or the tables or beds inside, for this come and go. The protection was cast on the stones themselves, the very bones of Hogwarts. And now that the bones are rotting away, these very powerful spells are being released."

"Why are they crying?" Luna asked, gesturing to the rest of the Hogwarts ghosts. Hermione listened closely and discovered that Luna was right; from the direction of the swirling spirits one could make a distinct, ominous wail.

"Ahh. I cannot explain to you the mysteries of Death, but these souls are.. tied to Hogwarts. They do not leave the grounds; they cannot. And now that it is being destroyed, their time is at its end. They are pretty upset about it, as you can see," she explained.

"Does that mean that you'll die, too?" Ginny squeaked.

"My dear, I already have."

"Then you will... pass on?" Hermione guessed.

"In truth, I am not sure what happens to a wizard once they have rejected to pass on, and then are forced out of this plane of existence. Perhaps we will `pass on', or maybe we will simply cease to be," Professor McGonagall said quietly. "So you see, Death is as much a mystery to me as it is to you."

Silence hung, thick and complete, between them. The wheels in Hermione's clever brain were turning rapidly, trying to come up with anything. _I can't lose any one else tonight!_

"Professor!" she declared suddenly.

"Please Hermione, just this once, can you call me Minerva?" the ghost asked, her face tender and translucent. "After all, it is my last night on Earth."

"Oh, certainly, Pr-Minerva," Hermione answered, somewhat surprised. "I was wondering, why don't we pull some of the larger pieces out of there? We could make a little pile over here, and you and Nick could stay on it, and-"

"No, that won't do. We would be doomed to spend eternity sitting on a rock in the middle of nowhere. These ghosts have no life of their own; their reason for staying on this Earth is the students of Hogwarts, the life going on inside its walls," McGonagall explained. "I'm afraid that Death catches up with us all in the end, and the time had come for the Ghosts of Hogwarts."

"What should we do then?" Ginny asked, her voice frantic.

"Go to Hagrid's Hut. Wait for someone from the Order, who should be arriving shortly, as soon as they make heads or tails of the events at the Ministry," McGonagall went on. "You must take them a message for me. Tell them not to fear, that we will yet win our most noble war."

"How do you know that?" Ginny cried out.

McGonagall did not answer immediately. "It is the truth, young Weasley. Even as I die this night, I have hope for the future."

No one answered this.

"Furthermore, you must tell them Remus Lupin is to succeed me as the leader of the Order. It is important, in these times of confusion, that there be a clearly mandated leader. I choose Remus."

_What about Harry?_

"I know that the most powerful wizard among is Harry Potter, but he is not yet ready to shoulder the responsibilities of leadership, and I ask that you honor my request," McGonagall told them, addressing the unasked question on all of their lips.

"Of course," Hermione squeaked.

"And now you must go," the ghost said. "My time is near at hand, and I do not wish for you all to be here to witness it. Please remember this one thing; I loved you all very much, and I am saddened to leave you now, when you need me most."

"We love you, too, Minerva!" Hermione cried, tears suddenly running down her face.

"I love you!" Ginny called. 

Their sentiments were echoed by the other students present, until McGonagall raised her hand to silence them. "Obey this my final command; go to Hagrid's."

"Yes, Minerva." Hermione turned with a heavy heart and lead the rest of the students away from the pile of destruction that was their home for years.

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**November 1, 1997.** "I don't think I was cut out for this," Hermione remarked suddenly, shattering several hours of silence. It was early in the morning by then; in the east she could see the horizon beginning to light. There was still no sight of the rescue party from the Order, so they passed the time in quiet contemplation. Fawkes had recently departed to return to Harry, so it was only a matter of time.

"What's that?" Neville asked, his voice thick and hoarse. He had been slapping his wand against his free hand absentmindedly, but stopped when she spoke up. The two of them sat outside the door to Hagrid's Hut. Inside, the other students were trying to sleep, crashed out on various blankets and sheets. They alone had elected to keep watch, and sent the others to sleep.

"This whole thing, really. Fighting and killing; I certainly am not cut out for that."

"Hermione-"

"No no, hear me out. I know that I'm not a killer, and I'm okay with that. I really am. It's the rest of it that perplexes me, the leadership thing. I could lead the DA meetings, because that's just school, you know? I can do academic stuff. But because of my responsibilities to that group, I became the leader in battle tonight, and I couldn't handle it," Hermione explained.

"You know what? I never really felt we had a leader in the DA," Neville replied.

"Huh?"

"I don't think we had a leader, Hermione. I mean, sure, there were a few of us older students who kept things moving, but I don't think any one of us was the leader. I know the kids all felt that way."

"What are you saying?" Hermione asked, perplexed. It was as if something very important was going on, and she was missing it.

"I think you were in charge tonight because you chose it," Neville answered.

"I-I didn't want to. I would have gladly let anyone else do it."

"You don't have to apologize, Herm: You did a great job. Truly. It was grace under fire, literally. You saved a lot of lives tonight."

_Not enough. "But-But I'm not brave like you, like Harry!" Hermione protested. "It seems like I've spent the whole night crying."_

"Nonsense. You kept your head when Draco and his soldiers were breathing down our necks; that's saying a lot. Whatever happened later, you were in control when it mattered; that's what matters," Neville told her. "The fact that you cried only means that you're a sensitive human being, that you haven't let this war change you, make you colder. You're to be commended for that. You say that I'm brave, but you're wrong. I've killed, not because I'm strong, but because I'm weak. I don't have the strength to be who you are, to keep myself during this whole affair. I… hate that I kill."

"It's not your fault, Neville," Hermione said, squeezing his shoulder. "It's this war, it's Voldemort. Don't flinch when I say that; I think we've both outgrown that silliness."

"Yeah, you're right. V-Voldemort. Wow, that's tough to say. Voldemort," Neville said, looking around as if the Dark Lord might indeed show up. "Listen, Herm, I don't want to hear anymore of this nonsense about your being too weak or too afraid. You're strong, and you're brave."

Hermione reflected on this for a moment. "I've learned a thing or two about courage, tonight. Courage does not mean not being afraid, because I was terrified throughout the whole affair. I think courage is the ability to act in spite of the fear, to be able to forge ahead when what you really want to do is run."

"I'd agree with that," Neville said. "What else did you learn?"

Hermione closed her eyes, picturing Ron lying on his back on the common room floor, his eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling above. "Courage just isn't enough. Courage won't save you from losing the things that matter to you in this world."

"No, it sure doesn't," Neville agreed. "Looks like we have company."

"Harry?" Hermione asked, opening her eyes quickly.

"No, not that sort of company at all."

Hermione looked back toward the scattered debris that had been Hogwarts to see a group of several dozen people approaching from the distance. Hermione shook her head and looked again; the group was not actually far away, they were simply very small. Marching toward the front of the group Hermione recognized Winky, onetime servant of Bartemius Crouch. 

Hermione and Neville stood up and walked toward the group, meeting them some fifty feet in front of Hagrid's dwelling.

"Hi there, guys," Hermione greeted them, unsure what to say.

"Master Granger," spoke one of them. He stood a little taller than the rest of the group, and seemed to speak for them all. "We present ourselves to your service." With that, he dropped to his knees in front of her, and the rest of the house-elves quickly followed suit.

_Oh, bloody hell. "I-I don't want your service. I want you to be free."_

"We are yours to command," the leader persisted.

"Then I command you to be free, and to do as you please," Hermione informed them.

At this pronouncement, the group began to howl and wail in abject misery. "Master is… presenting us with clothes?" he asked, seeming terrified of the possibility.

Hermione opened her mouth to explain to them that they were free, and that this was nothing to be feared, and that they should seize the opportunity joyfully. Neville's arm on her elbow interrupted her. "What?" she asked, her voice severe.

"C'mon, Herm, they've had a long day as it is, just like we have. Don't do this to them. Not now, at least," he added, his voice plaintive.

"They could be free!" Hermione whispered urgently.

"But they don't want that," Neville insisted. "Look at them."

Hermione did as suggested. In front of her, the group of prostrated house-elves quivered in horror, knowing that their fate was being decided. None of them dared to look at her. "But why would they want that?" she asked aloud.

"Who knows? It's the way they are. It's not a question of servitude or wrongdoing. This is what they want, Herm. Don't deny them."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond that she had no intention of perpetuating slavery, but instead proclaimed: "Very well. You may come with me, my… friends."

An authentic cheer rose from the ranks of the house-elves, startling her terribly. 

"But things are going to change, starting right now," Hermione went on, earning an exasperated sigh from Neville. You there, in front, what is your name?"

"I is Plunky, master," the elf squeaked.

"Okay, then, Plunky. From now on, no one is to refer to me as Master," Hermione told him. "I is, er, I am Hermione, and I won't tolerate anything else. Is that clear?"  
            "Yes Mas- urm, Hermione," Plunky stuttered.

"Good. And all of you get on your feet, right now," Hermione continued. "From now on, you're not to bow to me or any other human. We can figure out your wages and hours later."

"WAGES?" Plunky exclaimed, sounding as if he had just been hit.

"Yes, that's right, and I'll hear no more argument on the topic," Hermione said severely.

"What is you meaning by hours, Hermione?" Winky spoke up.

"Oh, you know, the times when you work, and when you are off-duty," she explained.

"Hermione!" Neville exclaimed, but she paid him no attention.

"I is not understanding, Hermione," Plunky told her.

"Well you will," Hermione answered. "Before I'm through, many things are going to change."


	9. The Last Marauder: Remus Lupin

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.**

Dark Days: Remus Lupin

            **November 2, 1997. **Remus Lupin glanced nervously around at the faces in front of him, all gathered around a long table set up in the main building of the compound. There were seventeen pairs of eyes staring back at him; not a one of them over twenty years of age. _Why did you leave this to me, Minerva?_ "You might wonder why I have gathered you here today," he began, his voice unsteady. 

            "Oh, I think I've got a pretty good idea," Harry muttered, sitting at his right. 

            Remus tossed him an aggravated look, but decided not to address it. "I have gathered you here to address your future plans," he went on, feeling the agitation of his audience. "As you know, there is a war going on. Many of you came to us on Halloween night, without much option in the matter. Others of you have been with the Order of the Phoenix for some time now, and have gained our trust and respect," he said, glancing at Harry and the twins. He could hear Moody coughing from somewhere behind him. _Okay, the trust and respect of most of us._ "However, most of you have ended up here against our plans and against your own intentions. It is with you in mind that I hold this meeting." 

            Lupin paused, turning his eyes around the room. They had already sent off the two youngest of the group, a pair of Ravenclaw first years. That left twelve refugees from Hogwarts, all fourth years and above, as well as the Weasley Twins, Seamus Finnigan, Viktor Krum and Harry. "I am today to invite you all to join the Order of the Phoenix as active members, and to encourage you not to take me up on it."

            One of the twins coughed aloud: "You're off you're rocker!" 

            Remus glanced back at him with a look that severe enough to suspend further comment, then continued. "I know that some of you are already active members of the Order, and take some pride in that station. However, I think you have all gained a new perspective on what that might entail after what happened Friday. In light of that, I am giving you all an out. If you wish, you are now free from any obligation to the Order."

            "If you do choose to leave us, I have spoken to Madame Maxime and she has agreed to take any of you in at Beauxbatons, should you wish to continue your education. Admittedly, this would require you to learn French, but the option is available should you want it. Otherwise, you may return to your homes. You third option is to remain here, as an inactive member of the Order; you would only be required to cook and clean and things of that nature in order to earn your keep."

"I will also say that we are in dire need of trained soldiers, and I would happily welcome anyone who wishes to enlist with us," Remus added with a heavy heart. "However, I have no desire to plunge any one else into this conflict, especially ones as young as yourselves. You should know that I cannot guarantee your safety, or even the continuation of your life if you remain in the Order."

Hermione raised her hand, likely the product of so many obedient years in school. "But, then again, you can't guarantee our safety if we go home either, can you?"

_Blast._ "No, I cannot," Remus conceded. "Recent actions have led me to believe that the wizarding world, and the world in general, are not safe so long as the Dark Lord is still in power. If you remain with us, your life could well be in jeopardy. I can say that I believe that the Order is the last line of defense against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. If we do not stop him, I fear the world may be safe for no one."

Remus tried to keep his eyes away from Harry as he said this. He could almost feel the stony look from the Boy-Who-Lived. "What are the current plans for the Order?" Harry asked suddenly.

Remus was a little startled by the question. He turned to look at Harry, whose eyes were ablaze with passion. _He looks just like James when he's angry._ "Well, we are going to lay low for a little while and recover," he said after a moment of consideration. "And then, we will wait to see what happens, when the Dark Lord makes his next move."

At this comment, the room broke into murmurs, sounding displeased. Remus was surprised again. _What's going on here?_ Every head in the room was looking back and forth between Harry and Remus. 

"Mr. Lupin?" Luna Lovegood spoke up. "We might as well tell you that your speech, while well intended, is entirely unnecessary. We, the survivors of Hogwarts, have already met and discussed our options."

"You have?" Remus asked, incredulous.

"Yeah. We're not children you know," Ginny Weasley spat at him, seeming offended. She was sitting on the far side of Harry; her chair scooted right up next to his. It seemed like she had not left his side since her arrival at headquarters. Fawkes was, as usual, sitting on his shoulder between them.

"Professor Lupin?" Hermione asked, raising her hand again persistently.

"Hermione. Don't address me as Professor; now I'm just Remus, okay? And don't raise your hand because we're not at Hogwarts anymore," he told her.

"Remus, are you familiar with Dumbledore's Army?" she asked. 

"Sure," he responded.

"Everyone that escaped Hogwarts that night was in that group. We are all dedicated to the cause of stopping Voldemort, you see," she said. Remus surveyed the reaction of the rest of the group, which seemed to be agreeing with her every word. _How little his name seems to disturb them._ Hermione went on. "We are willing to risk our lives to make this world a better place."

"It's… it's our fight, too," Ginny added. The twins nodded vigorously.

"We feel that this is as much our responsibility as anyone else's," Neville put in.

_But you're all so young!_ "I am thankful for that."

"There is only one question that remains," Harry spoke up. "We feel that… well, we feel that we need to change our tactics."

"What do you mean?" Remus asked.

"We can't just sit here and wait for Voldemort to attack," Hermione said loudly. The children in the room seemed to agree. "So far, all the Order has done is to sit around and react to Voldemort's actions, and that hasn't worked very well. We think we must make the next move."

Remus could not think of how to respond to this. "But- we don't have the manpower! We need to rest!"

Harry stood to his feet suddenly, and all eyes turned to him. "What we need to do is to stop being afraid," he said quietly, but everyone in the room heard him. "I understand that we are pretty beat-up after the battle at the Ministry. I agree that we need to rest, to regroup. But then, what we need to do marshal our forces and pursue Voldemort."

Remus thought about it. "I-I don't know that we would stand much of a chance."

 Harry shrugged. "If we continue to merely react, we will lose this war. The longer we delay, the less our chances will be. If we do not attack, he will continue to grow in power until he really is unstoppable. We must attack simply because any other option is defeat, and that cannot be allowed. We must attack even though we are not guaranteed victory; in fact, we must attack even though victory seems unlikely. It's our only chance for success."

Harry put both of his palms flat on the table and leaned his face in close to Remus'. He spoke very quietly, so that no one else could hear. "Remus, you know that how much I care about you. You were a close friend of my father's, and you have always been a friend to me. But I believe that this is the only way to stop Voldemort. If you are unwilling to commit to an offensive, than I will do it myself. Everyone in this room is prepared to back me up, and I think several members of the Order as well. Please, don't make it come to that." He sat back down, and the room filled with expectant silence.

Remus stood up and looked back at Moody, who had a very severe look on his face. He did not doubt the loyalty of these young soldiers to Harry. He knew that Moody would likely defect to that cause as well. Arthur and Bill Weasley would doubtlessly follow their family. "Harry, can we have a word outside?" he asked, gesturing to the hallway.

"Of course, Remus," Harry remarked, following him outside.

"Harry, do you want to lead the Order of the Phoenix?" he asked in the quiet of the corridor.

Harry regarded him seriously. "No, I'm not after your position."

"Harry, you can have it if that's what this is all about," Remus answered. "I don't know why McGonagall picked me to lead this group; it's clearly you that everyone will be loyal to. If you split off from the Order, it could not help but divide and weaken the resistance. Is that what you want?"

"No, Remus, it isn't. I am… fanatically dedicated to stopping Voldemort. You know that," Harry told him. "I don't wish to divide or lead the Order. McGonagall picked you because you're a better leader than I am. I don't want to lead any group, and will only leave the Order as the last alternative. I think that if we continue on as we have, we will fail. We must go on the offensive, Remus; there's no other way."

Remus sighed. "Very well, Harry. I can't say that I agree with how you're handling this, but I will consider your idea. I will present it to the rest of the Order, and if we agree on it…"

"That's the wrong idea, Remus," Harry said quietly. "You are their leader. You need to lead them."

"A good point, I suppose. Can we give it a few days, to heal and regroup?"

"Sure."

As it turned out, they had to take action a little earlier than he would have liked. Shortly after his meeting with the younger generation, Remus settled down in his chair in his office to get some work done. 

He held in his hands the last ever issue of The Daily Prophet, a single page covering the attack at the Ministry. There was also a brief note from the editor, explaining that The Prophet would cease to exist, and its members were going into hiding.

The muggle newspapers had been abuzz with stories surrounding the battle two days before. The Prime Minister of England had admitted to knowledge of the Magical World, which had caused an uproar in its own right. 

The English people were, and the world as a whole, had just been alerted to the existence of a whole new world. There were articles about the attack itself, about the Dragon and the Giants that had been seen, and wildly speculative articles about the nature of the Magical World. There were stories that attempted to delve into the "Immense Government cover-up" of the Wizards. There had even been a break-in at the armory for the Muggle Police. _That can't be good for us._

Across the front page of the first paper was plastered a thick, bold headline: **POLICE SEARCH FOR WIZARD OUTLAWS!**

_Oh, this can't be good. _He read the article underneath:

The Minister today issued a statement in which he swore that his forces would not rest until the criminals responsible for the chaos in downtown London were located. 

"We cannot allow these people to remain at large. The well being of this city and the nation as a whole depends on bringing them to justice," he said in a statement yesterday.

Starting at midnight last night, the London Police and Army forces have been conducting a systematic sweep of the city. 

The government last night admitted to knowledge of the group for several years. Top-level members have been in contact with the leader of the Wizards, a man known as Minister of Magic Tom Riddle. Riddle blamed the attack on a renegade group of wizards, known as the Order of the Phoenix, that has plagued the Wizarding World for many years with brutal attacks. He has pledged his help in locating the group, and hopes to restore peace and order to everyone involved. 

Lupin read on, his sense of foreboding growing. He then read the next paper and the next. They all seemed to say the same thing; The Muggles were after them. He called an emergency meeting of the Order, and stood before them in a state of near panic. "Ladies and gentleman, members of the Order of the Phoenix," he said. He always opened meetings this way. "Our stay here is over."

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**November 11, 1997.** Remus woke earlier than usual that morning, when it was still dark outside. He was accustomed to rising with the sun each day, but he never slept well the night before the full moon. He sat upright in bed, glancing at his watch. It was only 4 a.m., and all vestiges of sleep had been driven from his mind. _No sense in fighting it._

He rose from bed and dressed quickly. Nymphadora stirred in the bed uneasily. "Remus?" she murmured, semi-conscious. 

"Go back to sleep, my love," he said gently. "Nothing's wrong." _Well, nothing more than usual._

To all appearances, she did as he suggested.

He left their room and stepped out into the narrow hallway, lit only by a few stray lamps. Overhead, one of the ceiling panels had come loose, allowing the night air in. He reached up and pushed it back into place, sighing. Their compound had been built in a hurry and was far from perfect.

Still, it was a vast improvement over the vulnerability of their former headquarters. They were safe from the raids conducted by the Muggle Police, and for the time far from the reaches of the Dark Lord. The new headquarters were made possible only through Hermione's assistance. It was she who suggested they relocate to the Forbidden Forest, and she who supplied the manpower to construct the new building. Two-dozen house-elves turned their attention to the project, and within a day they had carved out a niche in the middle of the forest.

Remus opened the outside door, and felt a blast of icy air. It's much warmer in the city. He considered going back to his room for a jacket, but decided against disturbing Tonks any further. He stepped out onto the porch, jamming both hands into his pockets.

"Morning, Remus," Neville greeted him. Neville had been assigned guard duty for the north side of the complex that night. They had encountered quite a bit of trouble with the Giant Spiders. It took a concentrated effort from the entire Order to repel their attacks, so they stationed four people at a time to watch the perimeter. In case of an attack from the spiders or the Deatheaters, one of the sentries would sound the alarm, rousing everyone. The spiders seemed to understand that they would not find any meat here; they had not attacked since the third night in the forest.

"Good morning, Neville," Remus said quietly. "Who else is on duty right now?" 

"Hestia, Hermione and Colin," Neville answered. "Been a real quiet night, so far."

"That's good," Remus remarked. "Just the way I prefer it. Which side is Hermione on?" Since McGonagall's death, Hermione was the only one who seemed to be able to make the complicated Wolfsbane Potion. He wanted to thank her personally. 

"Um, East, I think," Neville answered. "Remus?"

"Yes, Neville?"

"Have you, um, thought any more about what Harry said?" he asked hesitantly.

"About going on the offensive?"

"Yeah."

_Almost constantly._ "No, I haven't had time to give it proper consideration," Remus replied.

"Oh," Neville answered, looking a little troubled. "You should know that he is serious, Remus. He will move if you don't."

"Thank you," Remus said politely, and stepped off the porch and into the frosty grass. He walked around the building rather than through it; all the while looking in between the trees for signs of life. He saw Bane just in time to avoid colliding with him. "Um, Good evening," he said politely.

"Good morning to you as well," Bane answered him. It could have been the typical stoicism of the centaurs, but it seemed to Remus that he was getting a cold reception. Werewolves and centaurs had a tenuous history. "It is nearly your time of the month, is it not?" Bane's eyes were, as usual, aimed at the sky.

Remus considered explaining what that particular phrase often implied to humans, but thought better of it. "Yes, it is." 

Bane grumbled but said nothing else for a minute. "I know that the position of the Moon is concerning to you, Remus Lupin. But tonight the stars have something to say that is worth your while."

Remus glanced skyward. Above him, the moon was bright and large, nearly full. Everything else seemed normal to him. "What do they say?" he asked meekly.

Bane made a disagreeable noise. Centaurs were proud of their ability to read the sky, and reluctant to share what they saw there. "We centaurs are sworn not to set against the heavens," he said angrily.

_Very well; if you don't want to tell me, that's fine, too. _

Bane stared at Remus with a displeased look for a moment, as if defying him to challenge the statement. Remus was not about to do so. 

"I know that Firenze had a mind to join your cause, but you see where that got him," Bane growled.

_Indeed_. Firenze had been bold enough to not only leave the Forest to teach at Hogwarts, but had joined the Order of the Phoenix. His life had been lost at the hands of the Deatheaters the night that Dumbledore fell. Remus held his silence. He knew that their presence in the Forbidden Forest was at the reluctant permission of the centaurs, and he did not wish to strain their relations any further. 

Bane lost his patience. "Centaurs have been reading the sky for all of time; we can divine the future through the positions of the heavenly bodies," he said, as if hinting at something.

_Yes, I know all of this._

"Tonight, the skies tell of interesting events in the near future, but it was not the stars that were talking tonight," Bane said.

"Come again?" Remus asked, confused. 

"Tonight, we have seen a dragon, flying low over the forest. We believe he had landed over by the place that once held a school," Bane told him.

            "Thank you!" Remus exclaimed. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and check that out!" 

            "Be safe," Bane said, and then darted off into the darkness of the trees.

            Remus wasted no more time and Apparated onto the grounds of Hogwarts. After the destruction of the building, all the spells that protected the defunct school had ended, and one could now Apparate freely into or out of the area. He appeared near where the doors to the old school had been; from where he stood he could see the wreckage clearly.

            The Stoneburner had devoured every last bit of the school, no doubt about it. This went down several hundred feet below ground level, digging a giant hole into the landscape. Most of the hole was filled with the material objects inside of Hogwarts; tables, chairs, books and various furniture. Once headquarters had been built, Harry and Hermione had put the house-elves to digging through the debris. The primary goal had been to salvage the books from the library, but on the second day of the task, Plunky and his crew had found Gryffindor Tower. 

The Order helped to pull out the dead students, one by one hauling up corpses of old friends and enemies. The bodies were, in general, mangled and battered. They had spent the better part of the day retrieving the bodies, and then burying them. Many tears were shed during the grim work. Remus turned his gaze away from the wreckage in front of him toward the forest. Next to the shrine for Dumbledore beside Hagrid's home laid dozens of rows of unmarked graves. Each was adorned only with a placard that read "We Will Not Forget".

In between him and the graveyard, splayed on the ground lazily, was a small green dragon. A solitary wizard stood in between them, still as a rock. Remus made his way slowly that direction, feeling a sense of dizzying anticipation. He thrust his hand deep into his pockets until he located his wand, and clutched it tightly for security. He made a wide arc in his path, so as not to sneak up behind the other wizard. Within a couple of minutes, he reached the edge of the graveyard.

The wizard still had not moved. "Good morning to you," he said simply, turning around to face the newcomer. He was tall and thickset, with short wavy brown hair. 

"And to you as well," Remus answered, a little perplexed. "My god, Jimson is that you?" 

The other man looked back, and blinked a few times. "Professor Lupin?"

"Yes!" Remus exclaimed. Jimson had been about to graduate when he taught at Hogwarts four years before. He was not one of the better students in the Hufflepuff class, but he was one of the more entertaining. "Well, I'm not a professor anymore, but yes, it is I. What… How…"

Jimson chuckled a little, anticipating the questions. "You want to know about Gloria?" he jerked his head toward the dragon, which was watching the conversation quietly. "After I left Hogwarts, I went and joined the Dragon Wranglers. I stayed with them until… until the massacre at Neddleton Island."

Remus said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"I was one of two survivors of the attack. I waited in the shadows while my friends fought and died," he said bitterly. "I should have fought with them, died alongside them. But I was… drunk. I am ashamed to admit it; the fight of my life came, my time to prove myself in this great struggle, and I was drunk."

Remus waited for more. When none came, he said softly: "It's not your fault, Jimson."

"How can you say that? Every day I go through this life, knowing that my time should have already come. I go on, knowing that I should be dead, and would be, if not for my weakness!" he cursed.

The Last Marauder put his hand on the shoulder of the troubled young man. "I think I may know how you feel. I spent my youth running with the best and bravest wizards that I've ever met. I hated myself for my weakness, for not being what they were. I don't know how much I can help you right now, except to say that I've learned a thing or two since then. I understand that I too have a role to serve in this war, even though it's not the one I expected, the one I wanted. I could not be the wizard I thought I should be twenty years ago, but since then I've found ways to be useful. Just like you did, when you showed up at the Ministry."

Jimson nodded slightly. "I was anxious to prove myself, somehow."

"I don't mind telling you that you saved our hides that day," Remus continued. "I don't want to think about what might have happened if you hadn't shown up."

Jimson said nothing for a while. They passed a few silent moments, looking over the graveyard. "What happened here?" he asked at last.

Remus sighed. "The Slytherins revolted, with some help from the Dark Lord. They killed most everyone inside, and brought the building down with some old, powerful magic. There were only a few survivors."

Jimson nodded soberly. "There is a graveyard just like it on Neddleton Island, only smaller, of course."

"Yeah, and all over as well," Remus intoned, thinking of Seamus Finnigan's destroyed village.

"There's been so much death!" Jimson exclaimed. "When will it all end?"

Remus thought about the dead children in front of him. He considered the wreckage at the Ministry of Magic. He remembered the indifference of most of the other magical communities in the world. He thought about the Order of the Phoenix, most of which was camped out in the middle of the Forest. _When we make it stop, I guess._

He waited a few more minutes before he said anything else. "I can tell you that the sense of guilt you feel right now will pass someday. It's just a matter of time," Remus told him. "And while you're passing time, why don't you come and join our cause?"

"What cause is that?" Jimson asked.

"The Order of the Phoenix. I happen to be a close personal friend of the guy in charge of it," Remus said with a grin.  

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**November 15, 1997. **Remus followed Nymphadora down the narrow aisle, his eyes scanning the shelves eagerly. "I hear you aren't supposed to go shopping when you're hungry. Do you know anything about that?"

She shrugged. "I suppose it invites you to spend more money."

"Hmm, yes," Remus agreed, eyeing a bag of potato chips with interest. He picked them up and shook the bag about, listening to the shuffling contents inside.

"Put that down!" Hermione hissed. She appeared behind the two of them and snatched the bag away from and restored it to the shelf. "Remember that we are among Muggles here, and they are in no way fascinated by potato chips."

Remus nodded. "Yes, it's a good thing we brought you along."

Twenty minutes later, the three wizards arrived at the front of the cashier's line and began checking out. They had three shopping carts full of food in every variety. Remus knew little of Muggle money, but he suspected that his paltry funds might not cover the purchase.

After ten minutes of exhaustive effort, the cashier announced their total. "That'll be two-hundred and fourteen pounds exactly."

Remus opened his pouch and peered at the unfamiliar bills inside. Hermione, glancing over her shoulder, began cursing quietly. "Remus, that isn't nearly enough money!" she whispered.

"Oh?"

"Please, allow me," a new voice interjected, silky and thick with self-satisfaction.

Nymphadora pulled her wand out and aimed it at the heart of Lucius Malfoy. _Oh no, not here!_

He had appeared next to Remus and Hermione, dressed in a black Muggle suit. His long silver hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, his eyes blazing with amusement. His long, skinny fingers held no wand, only a small rectangular piece of plastic. He put his hands up in a non-threatening gesture, handing the piece of plastic to the cashier slowly.

Nymphadora did not waver, earning curious looks from the inhabitants of the grocery store. The bewildered cashier took the credit card, and ran it through his register.

"I imagine your expenses are piling a little high these days," Lucius remarked, not taking his eyes away from Remus'. "I've heard there's a veritable army at your place, now."

Hermione voiced the question in Remus' mind. "What are you doing here?" she asked. 

"Here you go, Mr. Malfoy," the cashier said, returning the credit card along with a few slips of paper to the Deatheater.

"Excuse me," he said, opening his jacket with slow and deliberate movements. Hermione had pressed up against Remus' back, and was training her wand on Lucius with a little more subtlety than Nymphadora. He pulled a muggle pen out of his interior pocket, and signed the slip. 

"Did you… need some help taking that out?" the cashier asked, eyeing the unusual standoff. 

"No, thank you," Hermione answered quickly.

"I do think we're holding up the line, here," Lucius said, gesturing to the crowd that had gathered behind them. "Come, I'll help you with your groceries." Moving slowly and carefully, he put both hands on the lead cart, and began pushing it toward the door.

Completely thrown for a loss, the other three followed him, expecting a throng of attacking Deatheaters in the parking lot.

There were none.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Remus asked, after they had crossed to the back of the lot, away from listening ears.

"I'll admit to being a stranger among these filthy folk," Lucius snarled unpleasantly. He stopped walking "But I think it is customary for them to thank someone after they have purchased several hundred pounds of food on their behalf."

"Thank you," Hermione said. "You seem awfully knowledgeable about the people you hate so much."

Lucius shrugged. "It serves me well, from time to time."

"What do you want?" Remus repeated.

Lucius frowned. "Very well, I can see there are no pleasantries to be had here. I have come to provide you with some useful information, and to ask something very specific."

"What is that?" Nymphadora asked. Her wand had sagged to waist-level, but was still aimed at the Deatheater. 

"I want you to kill the Dark Lord."

"What?" Remus could scarcely believe his ears. 

"Don't act so surprised," Lucius drawled, looking around nervously. "Do you not know that his most devoted servants hate him more than you do? Some of us with better reason than others."

"And what's yours?" Hermione asked.

Lucius glared at her. It was evident that he was not enjoying this exchange. "I imagine you wouldn't just take my word for it, would you? Very well. The Dark Lord has taken something I value greatly from me forever."

"What's that?" Nymphadora snapped, shaking her wand at him.

"Merlin's Beard, woman! Can you not see that I am unarmed?" Lucius exclaimed. "If you must know, it was… it was my only son, Draco."

Hermione bristled at the name. Remus glanced at her; she was evidently remembering her own encounter with the youngest Malfoy. 

"I know that my son… led the attack on Hogwarts. I did not wish him to, but it was the Dark Lord's design. He sacrificed my own son for his cause, and I have reason to believe that I am every bit as expendable to him. This is my reason for wanting to stop him, and as far as that agenda goes, I am willing to aid you."

Remus regarded the other man carefully. In spite of himself, he felt sorry for the Deatheater. "I'm still not sure why you're here, Lucius. We… appreciate your monetary contribution, but we still have little reason to trust you. But more than that, your words change nothing: it's not as if we haven't been trying to kill Voldemort."

Lucius scowled. "I came to you, because I know of the Prophecy that Dumbledore received, the one regarding how to kill the Dark Lord. You have, in your group, the only weapon that may destroy him," He went on, his voice sounded more passionate than it had ever had before. "You have had not been able to do so yet, but I offer you my aid. I can disclose to you the location of the Dark Lord and his army."

Remus eyes widened. "Where?"

"Not just yet," Lucius snarled. "First, I want your word that, should you win this war, that I be spared, and excused from my crimes against the state."

Remus considered. If he was on the level, and if he was willing to aid them in the battle, this would easily be worth the cost of pardoning him. If, on the other hand, this were a lie or a ruse, then they would not have to pardon him. All that would remain is to decide whether or not to trust him. "You have my word."

Hermione and Nymphadora looked at him, a little surprised. He continued: "I do not know if we can trust you yet, Lucius, but if what you say is true, then you are free from our persecution."

Lucius nodded, and reached back inside his suit, drawing a nervous twitch from the witches. He slowed his actions down a little and produced a scroll of parchment. "Here, you will find a map of my estate, where the Dark Lord makes his base at present. I have indicated what I think are key points of tactical interest; underground entrances, spying holes, places from which he will defend the building. Feel free to confirm them or not as you please."

Remus took the scroll, keeping his eyes on the Deatheater. "Thank you."

Lucius snorted. "Surely you must know that I would rather not be dealing with you at all," he sneered. "But all the same, I hope you succeed." Without a further word, he Disapparated.

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**November 15, 1997**. Remus had Moody come out and inspect the scroll on site before he brought it back to headquarters. The retired Auror could not find any hint of enchantment about it; to all appearances, it was not a homing beacon. They returned to the Forbidden Forest, and Remus spent most of the rest of the day pondering his decision.

He very much wanted to believe that Lucius was for real. He had not made up his mind whether or not to take the offensive in the war, but this presented a great opportunity to do so. _Unless it's a trap_. It would be easy to verify the map, as Lucius had suggested, but it would also be easy for the Deatheaters to fake it. He'd puzzled the question for hours, and it all boiled to down to the same question; was Lucius lying?

A knock at his office door took him from his thoughts. "Come in," he said wearily.

"Hey there, lover," Nymphadora said, peeking her head in. "How's it going?"

"Just thinking about… well, you know." He got up and walked over to the doorway, putting his hand on her arm affectionately.

"Yeah," she said softly. "What do you think?"  
            "No idea," he said, shrugging. "It's going to take some time to figure out."

Nymphadora frowned. "I hope Harry doesn't make the decision for you."

"Me too."

"Come on, dinner's ready." She led him out of his office by the hand. They entered the dining room to see the entire Order of the Phoenix gathered. Most of them were sitting at the dining tables, waiting for their leader to begin the feast prepared by the army of house-elves. Remus and Nymphadora made their way to the farthest table, which had become the unofficial place where the "senior members" of the Order sat.

Just as they approached, Remus heard a Arthur Weasley look seriously at Harry and say "Whatever happens, Harry, you know that you have my full support."

Remus stumbled but recovered himself. Harry was going to make his move that very night. Trying in vain to remain calm, Remus took his seat. The rest of the Order began eating, and he spent the majority of the quiet meal thinking over his choices. _I can't let Harry pressure me into a bad decision!_

Suddenly, the time came. Harry rose, somewhat nervously, and cleared his throat loudly. After a few seconds, the whole room fell silent. "Thank you," he said gravely. "I have an announcement to make."

_Please don't do this Harry._

"We are in the midst of a terrible war," he began, his voice bold, confident. "Darkness presses in against us, and I for one believe that the time has come to make a statement." He looked down at Remus, his eyes set with determination.

"That is why I think now is the time to tell you all," Harry went on, his voice getting progressively louder. "That today Ginny Weasley has agreed to become my wife."


	10. Wedding Preparations: Arthur Weasley

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.**

Dark Days: Arthur Weasley

            **December 24, 1997**. Arthur whistled softly to himself, a curious half-rhythm, but the elusive melody constantly flitted around the edges of his conscious grasp. He was pruning old leaves out of a flower bouquet in front of the Burrow. There were spells that would have done this more quickly and far more effectively. With the wedding only twenty four hours away, it would have been prudent to use them, but Arthur was looking for something to distract him, and this laborious Muggle chore fit the bill perfectly. Afterward, he would move onto the various hedges around the compound.

            There were many fascinating things going on in his head at that moment. In preparation for the event, Tonks and Hermione had been sprucing things up, with a lot of help from the house-elves. They had added picturesque but temporary stone columns out beside the building, as well as a small, ornate platform. Rows of white chairs circled the platform, with streams of flowers spreading out in every direction. 

He paused to consider the future of the young couple. For the time being, they would continue to stay with the Order of the Phoenix, of course. Harry had commissioned the elves to begin work on a large Manor on the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. Arthur had himself seen the plans, and they were breathtaking. It would be a three-story building, covering a city block, with eight bedrooms. _What a wonderful place to raise children_. With a twinge of embarrassment, he turned his thoughts to The Burrow; the claustrophobic, run-down, glorified-shack-of-a-house that he had raised his own children in. _We did a good job though, raising our kids, didn't we? Even if it did not turn out so well for all of them in the end… _

The Potter Manor was to be the home of his youngest child and only daughter, Ginny. Inside, he hoped, she would find a life filled with joy, the devotion of her husband, and a slew of redheaded children. A father is always protective of his daughters, and giving her away to a young man is always a great risk. In this category at least, he felt blessed: Ginny had made a fine choice in Harry Potter, the Man-Who-Lived.

            That is, if he did. 

            Arthur's constant struggle was to keep his mind off of the dark shadows that loomed over the future. He knew that the hopeful vision he had for his daughter's future was tenuous. Even as he trimmed flowers, the few remaining members of The Order of the Phoenix were preparing for their final showdown with the Deatheaters, a fight they had little chance of winning. Harry's threat to split the Order seemed to have died away in the wake of wedding preparations, but Remus had decided to go on the offensive anyway. He and Harry had hatched a plan for the assault on the Malfoy Manor: Harry would arrive at the scene before the rest of the Order, and lie in wait. The Order would divide into two teams, one lead by Remus and the other by Hermione, and they would flank the Malfoy Manor, leaving no path to escape. Harry would remain in the shadows until after the assault had begun, and enter the fray only after the appearance of the Dark Lord. From there, they could only hope that things went their way.

Arthur knew that his future son-in-law was in grave danger even before the risky plan was launched. The most powerful wizard in the world was hunting him, and if the Dark Lord got his way, this wedding would find itself short one groom. In fact, it was not entirely clear that Harry was still alive. He had not been seen in several weeks, and the Deatheaters were still active. Hedwig, Harry's owl, arrived from time to time with words of encouragement and small gifts for Ginny, but there was no way to be sure that these came from Harry himself. Even the most recent owl was a week removed from that moment.

"Minister Riddle" had re-opened the Daily Prophet, and begun printing papers with a decided editorial slant. The Muggle military continued to search for the Order, as did the Deatheaters; although admittedly a healthy distance from where they actually were. Remus suspected that The Dark Lord was magically coercing the Muggle Prime Minister. 

            For the umpteenth time, Arthur cursed Harry's sense of timing. _Why would he choose to hold a wedding while the shadow of death still hangs over all of us?_ In the last year, Ginny had lost three brothers and her mother to the violence of the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers. _How can he expect to start a happy marriage like that, on the heels of such great personal tragedy?_ _And with the last battle still looming, the outcome of the entire messy affair still unresolved?_

            Harry had said that he wanted to hold it then, in the darkest hour, as a symbol of confidence and hope. He wanted to let the Dark Lord know that no matter how perilous the situation might appear, they could still lead happy, complete lives. He wanted Ginny to know that he would always love her, and always be with her, even when the world seemed ready to end. This was all good thinking, Arthur knew, right up until the point where the Deatheaters would crash the party and annihilate all their friends and family, all neatly convened in the same place.

            _Listen to me! I'm beginning to sound like Moody._

            Arthur wiped his brow, and the perspiration dampened the backside of his gloves. The sun was beating down with intensity on the Burrow through a cloudless sky. Ir was unseasonably warm. He looked up at it in wonder. _How long has it been since I've seen the sun in these dark days?_ Still, he was thankful for the brightness. For the afternoon at least, it seemed as though everything might be all right. 

With a sigh of frustration, he set down his shears and pulled off his gloves. The bushes looked horrible, he had to admit. Reluctantly, he pulled out his wand and corrected in thirty seconds all the damage he had done in four hours of Muggle trimming. He left the shears and the gloves on the ground, and went inside to find his daughter. 

"What's the password?" Colin demanded, half in jest. He and his younger brother Dennis kept a steadfast watch on the front door to the Burrow. Inside, Arthur knew that Ginny would be in her room, preparing for the ceremony the following day. He was thankful for the security, and never lost his patient with their measures. 

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Arthur intoned, and went through the door as soon as the grinning Creevey brothers moved out of his way. He crossed the living room in a few spaces, trying not to think of the horrible night, so many months ago, when the Deatheaters had come to his own home. Harry had staved off the attack almost single-handedly, but ever since Arthur had felt uncomfortable in his home. _What if they came back, now?_

He stepped lightly into the kitchen, and paused in front of the staircase, looking at the kitchen table. He took a seat on the bottom step and stared at it in reminiscence. There were still nine chairs crammed around it, although they only needed four now. Before he was aware of it, tears began tricking down his face, and he suddenly realized that he was sobbing.

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**November 1, 1997**. Arthur leaned against the wall in the old warehouse, staring at the ceiling wordlessly. The Order had just returned from the Ministry, counting their losses and licking their wounds. The body count was still being tallied, but thus far the numbers were staggering. Minerva's death had plunged the order in to a state of chaos; it was not entirely clear where they would proceed, who they would turn to. But she was not the only one lost: not by a long shot. 

Emmeline, Mundungus, and Sturgis had fought valiantly and died in the battle. They were joined by heavy casualties from the Ministry: it seemed as though every member of the magical government had met their doom that night. Arthur was dimly aware of the great losses their side had taken, but his mind centered on the one closest to him.

He had taken his team into the thick of the conflict, and disaster struck quickly. They had emerged from the staircase on the middle floor of the Ministry, and the scene was thick with spells. Before they had a chance to find cover, a group of Deatheaters converged on their position, and sprayed them with killing curses. Mundungus and Bill were killed instantly.

The rest of the evening had been a blur. Arthur had become insensate with rage; and began recklessly attacking the Deatheater hordes, without concern for his duty as team leader or even his personal safety. Somehow, he and Angelina Finnigan met up with Hestia Jones and Igor Karkaroff, and they stayed together until the Deatheaters had finally been repulsed. Now, Arthur found himself back at Headquarters, with only one thing on his mind. _Bill…_ He had now lost two sons and a wife to this horrible war.

"Mr. Weasley?"

Arthur diverted his eyes from the ceiling to see Harry standing in front of him. The youth did not look well. His skin was caked in a thick paste of dust, blood, and sweat. His face was unnaturally pale, and his eyes were blood shot. He seemed to be shivering. _I know how you feel_. 

Behind Harry stood Remus, looking only slightly better than the youth.

"What is it, Harry?" Arthur asked wearily.

Harry turned to Remus with a plaintive look. "Arthur," the werewolf said, his voice grave. "We have something… unpleasant to show you."

"I'm not sure I could handle anything more today," Arthur replied truthfully. 

Remus and Harry grimaced. Remus spoke softly. "I'm afraid that your night is far from over, old friend. 

_What more horrors could possibly await me than the loss of my son?_ "Very well," Arthur responded, gesturing to the other wizards that he would follow them.

Remus and Harry lead him into an adjoining corridor, and turned into the first room on the left. "I should tell you that no one has seen this except for Harry and I," Remus told him. "I will leave it up to you how to handle this." The room had presumably been an office when the warehouse had been inhabited by Muggles, but was now barren. The walls were a dirty white in hue, and all of the furniture had been removed. There was nothing in the room except for three wizards and one redheaded corpse. 

"Oh, god!" Arthur choked, fresh tears arriving in his eyes. "Percy!" He collapsed to his knees beside the fallen youth, cradling the head of his son in his shaking arms. _Whygodwhy?_

"I'm sorry, Arthur," Remus said simply, still standing beside the door, which he had closed behind him. "I know this must be tough for you."

"You have no idea!" Arthur screeched, surprised at the sound of his own voice. "Why is he.. wearing these robes?" Arthur sobbed, tugging at the thick green clothing on his son's body.

Neither Harry nor Remus said anything. Arthur stared at them in wild disbelief, but they held their silence. Tears began running down Harry's face. He too collapsed on the ground beside the cold form of Percy Weasley, and began shaking with great heaving sobs.

"Why is my son wearing the robes of a Deatheater?" Arthur shouted, angrily tearing at the cloth in his hands. He could not believe the only answer his mind could provide.

"I'm so sorry," Harry gasped. Arthur realized that the boy had not spoken in several long minutes. "It's all my fault!"

_Percy… why? Why did you go to their side?_

"Actually, it explains a lot," Remus went on in his low voice. "The Minister and everyone close to him were exterminated very early in the battle, we think. Someone close to Fudge must have betrayed him."

"I'm so sorry!" Harry wailed again.

"This has nothing to do with you," Arthur breathed. He could feel his insides going cold. The tears stopped in his eyes, and he suddenly felt nothing at all. 

Harry regarded Arthur cautiously, then proceeded slowly. "Mr. Weasley, I… I killed him."

"What… do you mean, Harry?"

"Right after the dragon appeared, the battle turned our way. I was flying around on a broomstick on the street level, trying to find the thickest group of Deatheaters to attack," Harry said. "Then, one of them signaled the retreat. I figured this must be their leader, so I… I snuck up behind him, and killed him. I… I swear I didn't know who it was, Mr. Weasley!"

The three of them sat in silence for long minutes, while Arthur's mind whirled with the news. His emotions seemed to have finally died altogether; he could no longer feel the pain of his losses, nor the shame of Percy's actions. Harry spent the entire time watching him with tear-filled eyes, waiting for Arthur's reaction.

"Harry," he said at last, his voice devoid of feeling. "It isn't your fault. Percy chose this when he went over to the Dark Lord's side."

"I didn't know! I'm so sorry!" Harry wailed again.

"Harry, you have to forgive yourself. Right away," Arthur breathed. "You can't possibly blame yourself for his death: you were merely doing your job, and doing it well. But it is imperative that you let go of your guilt, Harry. Do you understand me?"

Harry looked back at him in utter bewilderment.

"Remus, I think I know what you meant when you said that I could decide how to handle this."

Remus nodded. "Your choice: Percy died bravely, defending the Minister, or… as it stands now."

"I would in no way seek to ameliorate or ease my sufferings. I don't know how I would. I have suffered more than I think you could understand, Remus, have shed so many tears… All rivers decrease to mine eyes," Arthur said slowly. "But I must think of my remaining children, and how this news would affect them. If I can at all help it, they will never know the truth of Percy's horrible actions."

"Very well," Remus agreed, his voice low and serious.

Harry caught on. "Let's get these awful robes off of him."

Remus left shortly thereafter, and Harry and Arthur attended to the corpse. The hoax was complete by the time Alastor Moody poked his head in. 

"Potter," he growled in his characteristic way. 

Harry looked up, alarmed. "What is it, Moody?" He glanced back at Arthur with a grave, conspiratorial look.

"Where is Fawkes?" Moody said gruffly.

Harry was visibly relieved by the question. "I, er, sent him to be with Ginny. Right after the fight. I wanted to be sure she was safe."

Arthur tore his attention away from Percy and looked at Harry in wonderment. "You-you love my daughter, don't you?"

The young man did not waver. "Yes sir, I do."

_Thank God for that_. "Thank you."

                        *                      *                      *                      *

_Soon enough, this awful war will be over. And then we can begin again._

Arthur stifled his cries and wiped away the tears. He reminded himself that he had to be strong at that moment, for his own daughter's happiness. He got back to his feet after a second, and ascended the stairs quickly. He stopped when he reached the closed door to Ginny's room. He knocked softly. "Ginny? May I come in?"

"Come on in," came her soft voice from inside.

Arthur turned the knob and stepped through the door. The sunlight came streaming in through the open curtains, creating a twinkling on every surface in the room. There were flowers in here as well, filling the room with a pleasant fragrance and many bright colors. Fawkes, who had become a recent fixture at the Burrow, sat in the window. Ginny sat in front of the mirror at her bureau, playing with her long, curly hair. She was wearing her wedding dress: white and lacey, but not overly complicated. He knew it well; her mother had worn it at their wedding.

"Wow, you look beautiful, Gin," Arthur exclaimed, his heart swelling with pride. 

Ginny turned away from the mirror and looked back at him with an appreciative smile. "Thanks," she said. "I thought I'd go ahead and try the dress on. It fits pretty well."

"Yes, you're about the same build as, ah, your mother was," he said with difficulty. He stepped over to stand beside her, tenderly touching a curl of her read hair. On the table in front of her was arrayed her hairbrush, a few pieces of jewelry, various baubles, and a glass of some sort of potion. This he picked up and smelled. "Ugh! What is this?"

"A potion Hermione made for me," she answered, sighing heavily. "It's… supposed to make me feel better."

Arthur put the glass back down and looked at his daughter in alarm. "What's wrong?" he asked suddenly.

"It's nothing much, I've just been feeling a bit under the weather lately," she answered, sounding embarrassed. "I just want to make sure I'm on top of things tomorrow."

Arthur frowned with deep concern. Something was seriously bothering his daughter, and it was not hard to guess what. _We make everything here so pretty, so ornate, and we expect her to forget that the war is raging out there in the world, that her fiancé' is likely in mortal danger, that her family is dying slowly.. _

Hanging from one of the posts of the bureau was a silver chain with her wedding ring on it. It had apparently belonged to Lily Potter, many years ago, and his daughter would wear it for the rest of her life. Arthur only hoped that she would enjoy it longer than the previous owner had. He reached out to grab it, but Ginny slapped his hand away. He withdrew his hand in surprise. 

"I'm sorry, Dad," she said, sighing heavily. "I just polished it, and I don't want anyone to touch it before the ceremony."

"Oh, no problem." It was easy to push his annoyance away. _Poor, tragic girl_. 

"Listen, Ginny," he said, feeling as though he had a weight on his chest. "I don't know if I've taken the time to explain to you all the things that have been going on in my head. First of all, I want you to know how very much I love you. These have been, well, very hard times for all of us, and I've often regretted that I didn't tell my children I loved them often enough. I… won't get another chance with several of them, and that hurts me. There a lot of things I wish I had said to them, and now I'll never get the chance. I won't make that same mistake with you. I don't have any words of wisdom to offer you before tomorrow. I can only tell you that the key to making a happy home is remembering the love you have for your family; if you make that your top priority you won't get too far off track. I want you to know that I'm proud of you, and I look forward to the happy life you will have. I think you have a fine man in Harry, and I know that he would go to the ends of the Earth to make you happy. I only wish I knew where he was right now, as I'm sure you do."

Ginny blinked, tears starting in her eyes. "I-I'm sure he's safe," she said timidly.

Arthur nodded, exhaling sharply. "I only fear that he may have done something rash."

"Like what?"

"Like seeking out The Dark Lord on his own," Arthur said. He did not want to say these things to his daughter, but felt she should be aware of the possibility. 

"I'm sure he wouldn't do anything like that," she said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. 

"I am not so sure," a cold voice came from the doorway. Arthur whirled around to see his actual worst nightmare; Lord Voldemort standing in his daughter's room. "But he hasn't had much luck has he? Because here I am." 

The evil wizard made a jerking motion with his outstretched wand, and Arthur's own weapon flew out of his robes before he could even draw it. The Enemy snatched the wand out of the air and threw it out the door, into the corridor. Another jerk of his wand sent Arthur flying up against the far wall hard. He found that he could no longer move.

Ginny got to her feet, her face showing a mix of fear and defiance. 

"It's fortuitous that you are here, Arthur Weasley," the Dark Lord rasped. "I think I will let you live today, that you might carry the message. You can go back to your Order and tell them that I have killed Harry Potter's lover." His laughter filled Arthur's body with coldness.

Voldemort gazed deeply into Arthur's eyes, and the patriarch of the Weasley's felt a tingling inside his skull. "Ah…" Voldemort sighed. "Most interesting. The Forbidden Forest. I should have seen it myself. But no matter, we will attend to your friends at headquarters soon enough. Your meager attack will never materialize."

"Why-Why didn't Harry see this coming?" Ginny whimpered, more to herself than anyone else. "He swore he would protect me!"

Arthur continued to strain his muscles, but the invisible binding held him fast. He looked about for any sign of help, but there was none. Even Fawkes had vanished. He prayed that the Phoenix would return shortly with Harry.

"Your lover is a fool, and his death will come soon enough," Voldemort cackled. He walked across the room slowly toward Ginny, who backed away a couple of steps. His wand was still in his hand, loosely pointed at her heart. Clearly, he felt unthreatened, in control. He came to a stop beside the bureau, which he examined with interest. 

"I think I recognize this wedding ring," Voldemort breathed. "I've already killed the first owner of it. Maybe you should put it on, little Weasley, and you can die wearing this little keepsake." 

"Oh no! Why this now?" Ginny sounded hysterical. Her body began to convulse with sobs. 

Voldemort reached out his long, green fingers and touched her face, running his dry skin against her cheek. "Yessss… He will misss you." He smiled viciously, then reached out and grabbed the ring.

And vanished. 

Ginny instantly stopped her sobbing and whirled to face her father. "I have to go now," she said simply. "If-if I don't make it back from this, know that I loved you very much." 

"Wait, Ginny, what-". Arthur cut short his protest as his daughter pulled open a drawer and seized the wand inside. "What are you doing?" he asked, unable to believe his eyes.

Her eyes softened, as if fresh tears were on the way. She opened her mouth to say something, but then stopped herself. She reached down and picked up her brush: the other portkey in the room. She vanished immediately as well.

Arthur's screams filled the house for several minutes on end. He was not sure how much time had passed before he heard footsteps on the stairs. A second later, Remus burst in, carrying Arthur's wand, with the Creevey Brothers on his heels.

"Arthur, what has happened?" he asked, his eyes wide with fear. He undid the enchantment holding Arthur to the wall. 

"Ginny!" Arthur howled, collapsing to his knees. "She's… gone to fight Lord Voldemort!"

"What?" Colin gasped. 

"He was here – in this room! He came to kill her, but she… she used a portkey to… She went to fight him! I don't know where they are," Arthur sobbed. His thoughts were whirling through incarnations of doom, all swirling around one central thought, which he screamed out in agony: "I can't help her!" 

"Oh no…" Dennis spoke up.

"Arthur, we… I hate to say it, but we can't help that right now," Remus said softly. "I just got the word from Harry. He's at Malfoy manner, and Hermione's team is moving into position. We've got to go, Arthur. The final battle is upon us." 


	11. Prophecies Fulfilled: Harry Potter

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.**

Dark Days: Harry Potter

**November 7, 1997**. Harry Potter sat on the precipice, staring into the gaping hole that had once been a school. His feet dangled over the edge, his eyes and nostrils filled with the unmistakable sense of destruction. Far below, he knew were the remains of the place he had once called home; the library, the Great Hall, and Gryffindor Tower, the site of the deadliest battle. He hated that he had not been there for his friends in their greatest need; hated himself for it. Ron Weasley lay in a cold, dirt bed and he had not lifted a finger to prevent it. 

Ginny would tell him that he was just being silly, that he was doing everything he could to win this war, and could not be held responsible for everyone. She felt that he was wrong to feel so guilty. On the other hand, Ginny did not know that he had killed Percy, nor could he ever tell her. 

Everyday, the guilt cut through Harry like a blade. He saw the faces of Ron and the other students of Hogwarts in his dreams; spent his waking hours thinking only of them. He sometimes thought that he saw Ron's face in the distant, only to find out that it was one of the Twins, or Arthur, or (far worse) someone who did not resemble Ron at all. 

He understood intellectually that the pain would not always be this bad, that time would work its own breed of magic, and heal all his wounds. For the time being, he went there, to Hogwarts, in penitence. It was not exactly communing with the dead, but it was as close a chance to say good-bye as he would ever get. He came here more often than he cared to admit.

He waved his wand back and forth, muttering the word "Translocutus". It was a complicated spell; a far more powerful version of "Accio". The primitive summoning charm required the caster to know the location of the desired object; but not so with this new spell. The original had been difficult for him to master in his fourth year; this one was out of reach for many full-grown wizards.  

"Translocutus Sorting Hat." Harry suddenly found a beat-up old hat in his free hand. He examined it with some interest. It was indeed the same hat he had donned six years before, then just a newcomer to a strange world. With a feeling of curiosity, he thrust the old hat on top of his head. He noticed that the brim did not fall down nearly as far as it had so many years before.

"Ah, Harry Potter. I wondered if it would not be you who dragged me out of that hole," said a voice in his ear.

_Me? You expected me?_

"Don't act surprised," the voice continued. "How long will you continue to delude yourself, Harry Potter? I can see it plain as day; the incredible power you have inside of you. You have the potential to be the greatest wizard of your day, and you know it."

_I know nothing of the sort_.

"No? Then how do you explain the things you've done? Every time you go into battle you come out victorious. What about the sealing charms you made, that only Dumbledore could undo? And now, you've mastered the Translocutus Charm on the first try."

_So what? What about HIM?_

"Ah, Riddle. Yes, that's a quandary for you, no doubt about it. Will you only believe in yourself after you have faced him again?"

_Seems logical to me_.

"Hmmph. So what do you need me for?"

_Come again?_

            "No one puts me on unless they want to know something, Harry. Usually it's first years, trying to figure out which House they belong in. I can't exactly sort you again; there are no Houses left. You put me on in your second year to decide whether you were the Heir of Slytherin. So what do you want to know today?"

_            Can you tell me what is in the heart of Lucius Malfoy?_

            "I can tell you what was in his heart when he put me on in his first year, but I doubt that helps you. Nor is it what you were really looking for."

            _Where did all this power come from?_

            "It's been there all along. It just needed the proper impetus to come out. In my humble opinion, it started at the Burrow this summer. You could have stayed there in Ron's room, and kept out of the battle. Instead, you chose to enter the fight and protect the lives of the ones you loved. But quit beating around the bush."

            Harry paused, then sighed in resignation. _Can I stop him?_

            "I think I've already answered that; you have enormous potential."

            Harry pulled the hat off in frustration. He stayed there for the better part of an hour, staring into the abyss and summoning various objects. Finally, he gave in and returned to headquarters.

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **September 1, 1997**. Harry Potter faced her in the darkness; watching her lips move, observing the delicate bounce of her red hair, listening to the hushed sound of her lovely voice. _God, how I've missed her._ "What did she say, Ginny?" he asked her. 

            "Dark Days have come upon us all,"  she said slowly, her voice trembling slightly. As she went on, her voice picked up strength and volume. "Muggle and Wizard alike. Calamities will abound as the shadow of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named passes over the land. This darkness will be thicker, more complete than ever before. The blood of Heroes will flow, and hallowed institutions of old will burn to the ground in the wake of this fierce storm. Death has visited the House of Weasley once already, but will be back again in force. The Boy-Who-Lived will turn his wand to no avail against his mortal enemy. The Dark Lord may only fall to the Only One He Ever Feared." 

            _It can't be. _

"Harry, I'm scared because you're going to try to stop him one of these days, and you're going to be killed," she said to him, her sweet voice broken by injurious sobs.

            "Just let me worry about that, okay?" he told her, concentrating on sounding more brave than he felt. 

            They talked for a little while longer there, in the Chamber of Secrets, and the world waited a few moments for the two burgeoning lovers. "Don't worry Ginny. Whatever happens, I will never let them hurt you," he swore to her. _Whatever storms may come I will hold you above it. Whatever danger crosses your path I will defeat it. Whatever threatens you, I will destroy it, or die trying.  _

He went on inside his own head in this manner. If left alone long enough, he would have promised her the sun and the moon and the heavens above. Ginny cut off his mental tirade with a tender kiss. She leaned her face next to his, close her eyes, and pressed her lips against his. His heart jumped into overdrive, and his scalp tingled. He felt lightheaded and giddy. Nothing else mattered for one glorious moment.

            He pulled away, and looked at her in silent astonishment. _Her eyes are so beautiful._ It took him a few long moments to catch his breath. "What… was that?" he asked at last.

            "That was… wonderful," she said, seeming as lost as he was.

            "Well, yes…" He could scarcely argue.

            "Harry, you know how I feel about you. How I've always felt, from the first time I ever laid eyes on you," she gushed. "I was just a little girl then, that day at King's Cross. You were alone in a strange world, far away from anyone or anything you knew. But you carried yourself with bravery, with strength. I adored you right away. When I found out that you were the one who had defeated the Dark Lord, it didn't surprise me much. I could see your strength from the very first moment. It was the strength that drew me to you in the first place. Other girls would fall you for being famous, or for your looks, or what you did on the Quidditch Pitch. For me, it was always that first moment. I  knew that if I waited long enough, you would find me. Here I am, Harry."

            "I'm so glad that you are," he breathed. "I love you, Ginny."

            "I've always loved you, Harry," she responded quietly.

            Harry put his fingers softly underneath her chin, and raised her head to level with his own, and kissed her passionately.

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **December 24, 1997**. It may have been sunny outside, but precious little light penetrated the abandoned house. The electricity had long since given out, and the dank scent of rot pervaded everything. Harry had spent a few days cleaning up and magically rebuilding the old house, but it was still far from cozy. It had not seen any guests since Voldemort had attacked over sixteen years before.

            "Why didn't Harry see this coming?" the question rang out in the darkness. "He said he would protect me!"

            Voldemort himself was back in the house. In one hand he held his wand; in the other, the wedding ring of Lily Potter. His snakelike face was contorted with anger and confusion.

            "Why didn't he see this coming?" repeated the voice of Ginny Weasley, the intended bride of Harry Potter. A jerk of her wrist lit various torches about the place, bathing everything in a golden light. "But… what if he did?"

            "What… are you talking about, girl?" Voldemort hissed, his earlier confidence wavering.

            "If you've tried to Apparate away, as I'm sure you have, then you've found it quite impossible," her voice laughed, taunting the Dark Lord. "I'll ask again, what if… Harry expected you to come and kill his bride to be? In fact, what if he was counting on it? What if he used his lover as bait in a trap for one particular evil wizard?"

            Voldemort said nothing, but merely watched the youngest Weasley with wide eyes.

            "Do you see where I'm going with this, Tom?" 

            "Do not call me that!" the dark wizard hissed. "I am Lord Voldemort, heir apparent to Salazar Slytherin, and the most powerful wizard who has ever lived!"

            "You, Tom? You're only a mere half-blood." The voice came through gritted teeth now. "Just like me."

            Voldemort started, his eyes and ears in a state of direct conflict.

            "Do you get it yet, Tom Marvolo Riddle? Or do I need to explain? Do we need to wait for the potion to wear off? Do you need to see the scar you gave me **in this very house** appear on my forehead?"

            Voldemort's eyes widened, and he cast them nervously about the old building. "H-Harry Potter?" 

            "Yep. Did you miss me? It's been a long time since we've talked, Tom," Harry said, laughing. "And I went to quite a bit of trouble to set up this little tête-à-tête." 

            Far away, he knew that The Order of the Phoenix was preparing for the final battle at Malfoy Manor. As soon as Voldemort had showed up at the Burrow, he had sent Fawkes to Remus, instructing him to start the attack. That battle would be fierce he knew; the outcome would likely be decided when the victor of this face-off arrived to join the fray.

            His mind floated back to Ginny's words that day so long ago in the Chamber of Secrets. "I saw you briefly at Hogwarts a few months ago," Harry continued. "The day you killed Dumbledore. It only took you and a few dozen Deatheaters to bring him down. I bet he would have beaten you soundly in a fair fight. But instead you survived, and have continued your unholy war on all that is good and true in the world. During your first reign of terror, sixteen years ago, people said that he was the only one you ever feared. They said that Hogwarts was the only place you never dared to attack. But that isn't true is it? You were never afraid of him. You just hadn't gotten around to him yet."

            "Quite astute, filthy mudblood-lover," Voldemort snarled. "Now, if your done with your little soliloquy, I'd like to get this started."

            "LIAR!" Harry boomed. "You liar, you don't want to get this started at all. If you did, you would have already done so. The fact is, you know that the longer I talk, the longer you live. Dumbledore was not the one you always feared. It was me all along."

            "Preposterous!" Voldemort stuttered. 

            "Oh no, it's true. I can see it in your eyes; you're terrified of me," Harry said slowly. "That's why you weren't at the attack on the Ministry, nor at the revolt at Hogwarts. That's why you ran away as soon as I turned up, the day you slew Dumbledore. That's why I've never crossed wands with you this whole war. That's why I had to assume the form of my beloved just to meet you face-to-face. You always did go for the women and children first."

            "And what do I have to fear from you, foolish boy?"

"You know that I alone could kill you. You know that I will kill you."

            Voldemort said nothing, but did not attack either. They stared at each other in complete silence, wands poised, eyes blazing. One movement on either side would send spells flying. 

            "Ready, Tom?" Harry asked.

            Voldemort's face contorted into a wicked smile. 

            "AVADA KEDAVRA!" Harry shouted, sending a green energy burst at his adversary.

            Voldemort dodged out of the way, and launched a small, round fireball back at him. Harry rolled to the ground, muttering "Quiverian!". This sent a stream of arrows out of the end of his wand, one of which lodged in Voldemort's thigh.

            Grimacing in pain, the Dark Lord returned a haphazard volley of fireballs in Harry's direction. As he was lying on the ground still, they all flew over his head. Several small fires were soon blossoming about the living room. "Stupefy!" Harry shouted, jumping to his feet, and the bolt of red energy slammed directly into Voldemort, who had been trying to dislodge the arrow.

            The leader of the Deatheaters looked mildly surprised, but shook his head and came out of it. He pulled the arrow loose and snarled.

            _That isn't good._

            Voldemort shook his wand with an exaggerated arm motion, and a twenty-foot cobra, thick as a tree trunk, came out of the end of it. It raced across the open floor until Harry brought it down with another killing curse.

            "Snakes? And fireballs?" Harry shouted. He waved his wand and put out the many small fires. "What's the matter, Tom? What do you think would happen if you used the old killing curse on me? Would it end me, or just give me another scar and vanquish you again?"

            "Let's find out!" Voldemort screamed in a high pitch voice.

            Harry dove behind a nearby couch as a series of green spells blasted around the living room. _Very well_. He peeked his head around the corner and returned the favor.

            Voldemort did not see it coming in time to move. It hit the Dark Lord directly between his eyes, knocked him over backwards.

            Harry got his feet, his heart racing. He pointed his wand at the huddled mass of the Dark Lord, and watched in horror as his fabled opponent got back on his feet, laughing. 

            "You cannot kill me!" Voldemort cackled. "I am more powerful than any magic you can muster!"

            Harry's heart filled with dread. _The Boy Who Lived will find his wand useless against his mortal enemy._

            Voldemort smiled again. "Morsdmorde!" he shouted, sending the Dark Mark flying at the hero across the room. 

            Harry was suddenly encased in blinding green light. He could see nothing else, could not breathe: could scarcely move. He heard the low, venomous voice of his opponent. "Accio wand!" 

            Harry felt his wand whisk out of his hand, and all his hope followed it. The Dark Mark passed him, and continued expanding as it reached the front door.

            "And now, useless prat, a lesson before I send you on your way. For the only one I ever feared," Voldemort's voice was laughing shrilly. "Crucio!"

            Harry's body twisted in agony. His whole body felt like fire. He clawed at his chest, writhed about on the floor, anything to get free from the pain. His voice came out in tortured half-yelps.

            "Begging for your life, are you?" The Dark Lord laughed. "Perhaps my comeuppance is not at hand just yet. Crucio!"

            A fresh, even more intense wave of pain washed over Harry. He curled into a little ball, biting hard into his forearm.

            "When I'm done with you, I'll put the final touches on your precious Order," Voldemort continued. "I may not have found your lover yet, but I will. And she will suffer more than you can imagine before I let her die. Crucio!"

            Harry thought he would pass out from the feeling in his skull, cutting through him like a rusty saw. In the fog of pain, he could see a picture of the Dark Lord towering over him; as if he were very far away. The image was floating about wildly in a field of black, and Harry felt his consciousness slipping. _Where am I? What's happening? Why does it hurt so bad?_ _No… No! I can't give up!_ He reached out with his hand, and found the edge of the armrest. As his sight failed him completely, he pulled himself to his feet with a Herculean effort. 

            "What the- Crucio!" Voldemort screamed, his voice edged with terror.

            Harry bent over double at this. He put both of his hands together into a combined fist, and he threw his whole weight behind them. The blow landed in the midsection of the skeletal frame of the Dark Lord. 

            The Cruciatus spell was broken, and Harry's vision returned. The Dark Lord was toppling over the armchair behind him, caught completely off guard by the counter-attack. _The armchair! _Harry reached behind it, and his shaking fingers closed around cold steel. 

Harry pulled the sword of Godric Gryffindor out from behind the armchair, and swung it mightily at Voldemort, who had scrambled to his feet. The blade hit the Heir of Slytherin just above his right shoulder, glanced off the collarbone, and sunk into the man's neck. Voldemort's head split off from his body and landed with a wet thud on the carpeted floor. The trunk of his body fell down thereafter. 

The building began to quake. Thick red smoke streamed out of the corpse, flowing outward in all directions at a tremendous rate. There was a brilliant flash of green light, and when Harry's vision slowly cleared, the trunk of Voldemort's body was gone, leaving only the wide-eyed head. 

Gasping for breath, Harry collapsed into the armchair, dropping the sword to his side. He wiped the sweat and blood off of his forehead with a shaky hand. He sat there just for just a minute, and then leapt to his feet. _My friends are in need_. 

He found the harness for the sword behind the chair, and strapped the weapon to his back. He quickly located and then pocketed both wands. He found his Mother's ring and slipped it onto his finger.  He was just about to Apparate out when his eyes fell on Voldemort's severed head once more. A grim smile overtook Harry's features.

                        *                      *                      *                      *

**December 24, 1997**. Harry reappeared in wide open space. The ground was dark and muddy; a few clumps of thin grass and a couple of sickly looking trees constituted all the plant life in the area. A layer of thin, ominous fog blanketed the landscape. They seemed to be on top of a mesa; the field was flat but rocky. In the distance, jagged rocks and cliffs dotted the horizon. Directly ahead of lay Malfoy Manor. It was only one story tall, but according to the diagrams they had, there were seven underground layers. The outside was built like a fort, with a high, thick wall surrounding it. Each corner of the wide building held a small watchtower, and stone gargoyles and snakes lined the spaces between.

When he had left the Burrow, the sun had been shining brilliantly; there had literally not been a cloud in the sky. At the Malfoy Manor, it was hard to believe it was even daytime. All the fury of winter had returned as well. He quickly discerned the cause.

The Order of the Phoenix had divided into two attacking forces on opposites sides of the foreboding castle. Harry stood between them, but still removed from the scene by a hundred yards or so. The Deatheaters were apparently still inside, hiding behind various corners and ramparts. The field of battle held an immense throng of Dementors. There must have three hundred of them; they seemed to suck the very rays of sunlight and heat out of the sky.

            The Order seemed to be pulled under by the spell of the Dementors; many had lost their legs and lay on the ground. The rest moped about in a state of semi-consciousness. All around them were littered a series of thick plastic shields, which Harry had himself raided from the Muggle Police. The foul, cloaked beasts were closing in on the Order, and no one seemed up to resisting them.

            Harry felt a familiar wave of nausea, as if cold daggers had been plunged into his heart. He felt weak in the knees, and his eyes began blinking heavily. He pushed these thoughts from his mind and concentrated. An image floated into his mind of life after the war; the end of all of his fears, the love of Ginny Weasley, a child of his own.

            "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he shouted. A stream of white smoke came out of the tip of his wand, and quickly assumed the shape of an immense stag, nearly twenty feet in height. It charged off through the throng of Dementors, sending them flying with each shake of its head. It charged all about the group, breaking off their advance on the Order. Within seconds, the giant stag was chasing them all off to the East, far away from the battle.

            Harry's comrades seemed to be returning to their senses. On the left flank, Remus Lupin glanced at Harry, then at the Patronus in pursuit of the Dementors, and then back to Harry. "I taught him that!" Lupin exclaimed, nearly jumping in his excitement. "I taught him that!"

            A flash of green light came from the castle and hit the ground in front of Harry. The Order of the Phoenix snapped back to life; they picked up their shields and began returning fire to their enemies above. _Fawkes, come to me_. He waved his wand in a small clockwise circle; a complicated conjuring spell. A thick golden shield, as long as his body, appeared in front of him just as the Phoenix arrived beside him. With some dissatisfaction, he noticed that his familiar had flown over from one of the halves of the Order, rather than appearing on the spot from a far away locale.

            _Up, Fawkes_. The Phoenix grabbed a hold on Harry's shoulders and lifted him up in to the air. Harry guided the bird directly at the castle. He had Fawkes deposit him in front of the Malfoy Manor. 

            "Deatheaters!" he shouted. "Hear me!"

            The hail of green spells ceased. A few curious heads poked out from various corners in the Manor.

            "You know who I am!" he proclaimed. "And you know what my presence here means: Lord Voldemort is dead!"

            "Liar!" a voice hissed. "Our master will return to us, and make you suffer for speaking his name!"

            Harry laughed. "Then, by all means, explain this!" He pulled out from behind the tall shield a pike with Voldemort's head on it. He jabbed violently downward, driving the stake into the ground. 

            Muffled screams came from within the castle. Harry knew that it was time to begin the final push. "Summa," Harry growled, rotating his wand again, conjuring a mass of red energy. "STUPEFY!" A sphere of red light, nearly ten feet in diameter, flew from Harry into the giant front doors of Malfoy Manor, tearing them free of their hinges in a brilliant explosion. Individual stunning spells split off the giant orb, spraying the inside of the castle. A group of Deatheaters, who had apparently been reinforcing the doors, fell over unconscious.

_            No one else dies this day, if I can help it. _

The siege appeared to progressing successfully, but the Deatheaters had more surprises in waiting. A blast of green and red sparks sprayed down from the top of the Manor. Moments later, the ground was disturbed directly in front of the castle as a large hatch opened under the thin topsoil. Out of the gaping hole appeared a swarm of very large, and very angry Giants. They poured out of the whole and began charging toward the nearest members of the Order. 

            From the left flank, Hermione's troops began to strafe the attackers with stunning spells. Through their unified effort, they managed to bring down two or three of the behemoths, but the charging Giants were too powerful to be stopped. Harry's pace quickened; he cast another Summa Stunner, knocking flat a pair of the oversized menaces. He then raised his wand high into the air, sending out a spray of gold sparks.

            Nearby, over the nearest ridge, Jimson and Gloria would be waiting for this signal. Harry only hoped they would arrive in time to handle the Giants. He pointed his wand back at the Giants, shouting "SUMMA QUIVERIAN!". In response, several hundred arrows laced through the throng of Giants. The tiny bolts inflicted so serious damage to his adversaries, but it did get their attention. As one, the two-dozen charging Giants turned and began racing toward Harry.

            Fawkes lifted him up just in time to dodge their onslaught. As soon as he had reached a suitable height, Gloria arrived and sprayed the attacking Giants with thick red flames. 

            Assuming that this part of the attack was handled satisfactorily, Harry guided the phoenix in a path around the perimeter of the Manor. As they flew, Harry tossed out a handful of small glass vials, which smashed against the exterior walls. Once the Deatheaters figured out what was happening, they could put a stop to it; but likely not before the Stoneburners opened some gaping holes in the building. Within a minute, Harry had dispersed a half-dozen of the insidious potions, and had returned to the front of the Manor. He guided Fawkes right through the opening he had blasted through the front doors, and into the heart of the Deatheater base.             

            He did not know for certain that his friends would follow inside, but he hoped they would not. He preferred to handle this himself. 

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **December 24, 1997.  **"I told you to stay out of this," Harry said, his voice stern, his gaze hard. 

            "I know you did, Harry," she replied softly, not meeting his eyes. "But maybe I'm not any better at staying out of things than you are."

            The Order of the Phoenix stood outside of the remainder of the Malfoy Manor, an odd quiet seizing them. Once the Giants had been neutralized by Gloria, Harry and Lupin's team had encountered only token resistance inside. In truth, most of the remaining Deatheaters had sensed their inevitable defeat and had fled the scene quickly. The force that had decided to stay and fight had not even been enough to halt the Stoneburners which were now rapidly consuming the antiquated building. Seven Deatheaters, stunned but not seriously injured, lay on the ground outside the Manor. Tight cords bound their hands and feet, and their wands had all been taken.

            "Harry… What happened to your arm?" Ginny gasped, looking with wide eyes at his forearm.

            Harry glanced down at his left arm. There, a few inches above his wrist, a wound was still bleeding. He examined himself then, remembering for the first time that he was still wearing Ginny's wedding dress. It was covered in mud and blood. "I've ruined your dress," he said simply, shocked.

            "Don't worry about that!" she exclaimed. "What happened to your arm?"

            "Well, it looks like bite marks to me," Harry said, hoping to avoid the inevitable next question. "Look, I'm really sorry about your dress, Gin."

            "Who bit you?"

            "Uh, I did. But I'll tell you about that later, okay. Just listen to me for a moment."

            "Harry!"

            "It's just that…" Harry began again, his voice more gentle. "I've lost so much in this war, so many people I've cared about. I know you have, too. Sometimes it seems like more than I can take. If I lost you, too, it would just kill me. I don't want to lose you, Gin."

            Ginny Weasley looked up at Harry now, her eyes brimming with tears. "I don't want to lose you either, Harry."

            "I know, I know. But let me finish," Harry said, shaking slightly. "You and I concocted fake wedding plans in order to trap Voldemort, to lure him into the confrontation he was avoiding. So now, here we are. Voldemort is dead. His Dementors have been chased off, his Giants captured, and his feared Deatheaters scattered to the far corners of the world, likely. The War is… well, over really. So what I want to know is: would you agree to marry me in truth?"

            Ginny did not hesitate. "You know I will." She took a step closer so that their faces were inches apart.

            "I love you, Ginny."

            "I've always loved you, Harry."

            Harry put his hand behind Ginny's head, and pulled her into a deep, sweet kiss. They locked lips in a fierce passion, forgetting the crumbling Manor, the members of the Order of the Phoenix, and all the Dark Days behind them. 

            "Oh my god! My home!"

            Lucius Malfoy's voice shattered the serenity of that moment. Harry broke the kiss and turned to regard the newly awakened Deatheater with understandable contempt. The pale-faced man was standing, though still bound tightly, and staring in dismay at the vanishing building.

            Harry took long, angry strides in his direction.

            When Lucius saw him coming, he turned to the Man-Who-Lived and said indignantly: "You've destroyed my home! I was promised amnesty!"

            Without any words to preface his action, Harry slammed his fist heavily into the face of the elder Malfoy, who tumbled to the ground with a pained cry. 

            "Remus Lupin promised to spare your life in exchange for your assistance," Harry breathed. "But I did not. I have not forgotten that you willingly served Voldemort for years, and did many horrible things in his name. So… _don't push your luck_."

            Lucius Malfoy's eyes widened in terror, not sure whether to believe the young wizard or not. He must have decided to play it safe; he lowered his head and spoke no further. 

            "Harry?" a timid voice spoke up from behind them. Harry and Ginny turned around to find Hermione eyeing them nervously.

            "Yes?" Harry asked, observing the minor shaking of his old friend's shoulders. "What is, Herm?"

            "Voldemort is dead."

            Harry sighed. He had a feeling that the magical world was going to be a time in accepting this fact. "Yes, he is."

            "And the Deatheaters… have been defeated?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

            "Yes, Hermione: It's over now."

            With these words, Hermione quickly took the three strides toward Harry and Ginny, and pulled them both into a tight embrace. Harry had little idea what was happening as more and more bodies slammed into them, forming a tight knot of arms and crying faces. Within minutes, the entire younger generation had joined in, laughing and weeping and expressing their joy. 

                                    *                      *                      *                      *

            **January 1, 1998**. Every thing was in place; everything was ready. They had spent weeks preparing for a fake wedding; when the real wedding was announced, there was little left to do. 

            Harry stood out in the garden beside the Burrow, glancing around nervously at the various friends and family gathered there. It was true that there were many people conspicuously missing from the affair; starting with five Weasleys. The audience was sparse to say the least; mostly the members of the Order were there, with a few leftovers from the Ministry. But Harry felt himself suddenly surprised by how many people that were there. He had been in the magical world for over six years, but sometimes, at odd moments, he was still surprised that he had any friends at all. 

            Neville Longbottom stood next to Harry in spectacular dress robes, serving in the role of Best Man. They both knew that the place should have belonged to another, the youngest brother of the bride, but they spoke little about it. Next to Neville were the other two groomsmen, Seamus Finnigan and Remus Lupin, who was also the one responsible for conducting the wedding. As the official leader of Order, Remus had been thrust into the role of Interim Minister of Magic, at least until a new government was established. 

             Harry was pulled from his morbid thoughts when the Creevey brothers began playing the Wedding Anthem. They had only two guitars between the group of them, but Harry's mind was not on the poverty of the ceremony, only on the loveliness of his bride as she advanced down the aisle. Arthur Weasley, looking humble but happy, guided her confidently on his arm. Behind them processed Hermione, the Maid of Honor, in deep purple robes. She was followed by Luna and Tonks, the best remaining candidates for Bridesmaids. 

            Harry's mind wandered freely as Remus conducted the ceremony.        _Weary I am from tragedies indeed, but today I count myself among the luckiest of men. _Harry took her in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, through Darkness and through Joy. And then, he kissed his magically wedded bride, in front of dozens of crying eyes.

            "I love you Gin," he breathed softly on her face, thinking that he had never said truer words.

            "I've always loved you, Harry."


	12. Epilogue

            **September 1, 2013**. "C'mon, Harry, it's time."

            Harry Potter looked up from his book, squinting though his thick glasses at the redheaded beauty before him. He had been sitting in his armchair beside the fire, reading a muggle novel, Don Quixote. He had read it before, of course, but always found something new and promising with each rereading. His immense living room was furnished simply but comfortably: with four recliners and an unsightly but soft couch. His wife had been hounding him for years to get rid of it, but he had grown oddly attached to the horrid thing. It was an appalling mix of green and brown hues, and in truth Harry could hardly bring himself to look at it. However, each time that a guest was bold enough to sit on it, they would almost instantly become drowsy. Professor Luna Longbottom had even accused the Potters of enchanting it, but Harry had not yet done so: the couch did not need it. 

            In addition to the most comfortable seating in the magical world, Harry had arrayed in his living room a grandfather clock (styled after the one kept in the Burrow so many years before), a roaring fire place that was linked to the Floo Network, and an enchanted book shelf. There was a small knob at the top right corner of the book shelf, and each time you pressed it, the books on the shelf would vanish completely, replaced by a completely new set. He had programmed into it more books than the Hogwarts library had ever kept.

            His favorite possession, however, was above the hearth. Between the roaring flames and the sword of Godric Gryffindor, was a simple portrait of an old wizard with billowing white hair. The former headmaster sat in an armchair that was similar to the one Harry spent so much time in. At the moment, the portrait was rubbing his eyes tiredly, poring over a book.

            Harry said nothing for a moment, but quietly closed his book and stared at her. Her eyes were a deep green; showing many years of hard life, but also a twinkle of youthful mischief. Her long, red hair had begun to gray early in her life, mixing strands of silver in with the fiery mass. Her figure had rounded out somewhat after giving birth to a couple children, but Harry loved her all the more for it. Her face was careworn; soft and kind. In most every respect, she was strikingly beautiful; an older, more mature, maternal version of her younger self. "Ginny Weasley, you're just as lovely as the day I married you," he remarked in an introspective way.

            Ginny laughed. "Don't kid me, Harry."

            "No, seriously!" Harry protested. "Every morning, when I wake up next to you, I feel unworthy."

            Ginny flushed red; Harry had become quite adept at making her blush in the nearly sixteen years that they had been married. "Oh, stop it, Harry," she sighed, her eyes bright with joy. "It's time to go; the Express just pulled into Hogsmeade."

            _Is it already that late?_ Harry glanced in puzzlement at the grandfather clock against the wall; indeed, the term was about to start. "Very well, then, my love. Let's go."

            Harry stood up in a hurry, and threw a purple robe over his shoulders. "Headmaster?" he said loudly, talking to the portrait. "I have to run now, but I'll see you in my office later, okay?"

            "Sounds good, Harry. I'll let you know how I find Don Quixote," Dumbledore responded.

            "I'll look forward to it," Harry said breathlessly, as Ginny dragged him forcibly out of the room. "Okay, sweetie! I'm coming!"

            "Honestly, Harry, you could sit in there and talk to Dumbledore for hours!" she chided. "I'm surprised you even knew what day it is!"

            _Might not have, if you hadn't said something_. "Don't be silly. It's time for the sorting!"

            By now, they had reached the front door to Potter Manor, and Ginny pulled him outside. They were soon at a full run, laughing and breathing heavily. It was a cool night on the school grounds, but a bright moon lit the school grounds in brilliant white light. Harry was reminded of briefly of his days as a student, running about those very grounds, on any number of adventures. He then glanced over toward the Forbidden Forest, which was still teeming with mysterious life. Between the forest and the castle, however, was still a solemn graveyard.

            _Even now, my tragedies and my triumphs are inextricably linked. _

As they reached the stairs that led to the entrance of the castle, Harry's attention was drawn by a stone gargoyle beside the stairwell. One of the statue's ears seemed a little askew, and Harry was surprised to have never noticed it before. Pulling out his wand, he quickly moved the ear into its proper place.

            "Harry, would you come on! You can tinker with the castle later!" Ginny's voice, full of laughter, beckoned from the bottom of the stairs. "You just won't be satisfied until it's perfect, will you?"

            Ginny was referring, of course, to the construction of the school. Over a millennium ago, the Hogwarts Four had created a school through their combined might. Harry Potter had accomplished the same feat with his wand ago over the course of a very tiring week. Harry ascended the few steps between them, and took her hand, kissing it softly. "Don't fault me for that, my lady: I've become accustomed to perfection."

            Ginny predictably blushed, and stood gazing into his eyes adoringly: until her attention strayed to the space over his left shoulder.  "Look! They're coming across the lake!"

            Harry turned in the direction she was pointing to see a fleet of small ships crossing the lake slowly. He smiled proudly: there must have been thirty of the four man boats in all; a large crop of new students. Enrollment at the school had started slowly, but over the last decade Albus had begun to exceed the other magical schools academically, and their numbers were beginning to reflect that fact.

            "Go on ahead, lover," Ginny was saying. "I'll wait for them here."

            Harry nodded smiling. For a whole new generation of magical students, Ginny Potter would be the first face they ever put on the institution of magic. He kissed her quickly on the cheek and left her at the base of the stairwell. With youthful enthusiasm, Harry bounded up the stairs toward the Great Doors. 

            The staircase ended in the stylized head of a stone dragon, its jaws hanging open. Monstrous, flat fangs formed the entrance to the castle. The were only two ways into the castle; either to tap the front door with a wand and say the password, or to be Harry Potter. 

            He laid his palm against the cold stone, and the head came instantly to life. With a deep groaning noise, the immense jaws creaked open, allowing him entrance to the school. He had no sooner stepped through the stone threshold than he had to step back outside, dodging a poorly thrown water balloon. However, instead the water he had expected, Harry watched angrily as pink paint splattered the entrance area of the castle. He looked up to see the luminescent forms of Agnes and Julius, the twin Poltergeists of Albus.

            The school had been officially open for less than an hour when Fred and George had appeared, looking very proud of themselves indeed. Harry knew at once that something awful would soon be taking place, and he was not disappointed. By days' end, the feint of heart had been chased from the castle by dung-bombs, rubber snakes and biting whoopee cushions. Between the Weasley Twins and their ethereal gift to the new school, Harry could never be too careful in his own castle.

            Overhead, the twin poltergeists wavered in uncertainty. The rest of the paint-balloons were still in their silvery hands, but they were frozen in terror at the sight of the headmaster.  

            "AGNES! JULIUS!" Harry bellowed, his voice powerful. "Come down here at once!"

            Slowly, the two mischievous ghosts drifted down to Harry's eye-level. _Peeves never followed orders, not from anyone._ "That will be quite enough of that," Harry remarked when they finally arrived, his tone calmer now. He made sure to keep a threatening undercurrent in his voice, which they did not overlook. "The students will be here any minute, and I want this mess cleaned up before they get here. Afterwards, you will slink down to the dungeons for the rest of the night. I understand that you have a load of surprises in store for the new students, but you're just going to have to wait until tomorrow. I don't want them harassed on their first day. Is that clear?"

            Julius nodded quickly, but Agnes appeared to have a retort in mind.

            Harry cut her off. "I know that you are ghosts, but you will have to trust me when I tell you this: if you can affect the living, I can most certainly affect the dead."

            Agnes decided to keep her comment to herself. She and her twin seemed suddenly very depressed.

            "Why don't the two of you spend the evening thinking up some new mischief? When I was at school, we had a poltergeist too, a nasty guy by the name of Peeves. And every year, he came up with new and innovative pranks to assault the students with. Come on: paint-balloons? Are you serious? I think you can do better than that, and I accept nothing less than the best from everyone in this school."

            Looks of blank surprise soon vanished from their faces, and they began to smile in an almost sinister way. Julius raised his shimmering white hand in salute. "We won't let you down, sir. We've have those ickle-first years cryin' for their mummies!"

            Harry smiled. "Excellent," he breathed. "But not until tomorrow, as we agreed. Now get this cleaned up and get out of here." 

            "Julius!" he heard Agnes' voice from behind him. "We'll get some of George's Flaming Flatulence Powder, and put it on-"

            Harry tuned the rest out: it was going to be a busy weekend in the infirmary. He made a mental note to send a head's up owl to Nurse Lupin on the topic. In the meantime, he made his way into the heart of the castle. He quickly located a broom closet off of the entrance hall, and pulled out a battered old Firebolt. It was nearly obsolete in comparison to the newer brooms on the market, but he could still outstrip the fastest of the student Quidditch players. Within seconds, he was whizzing through the empty corridors of Albus towards the kitchen. 

            He rounded the corner next to the Transfiguration classroom at blinding speed. The corridor widened significantly as it encountered another hallway: Right through the middle of the space, at a height of nine feet, a large stream of water flowed, unperturbed by gravity. The waterspout served as a sort of expressway for students trying to get from the ground level up to any of the towers. Anyone could get from the Great Hall to the Owlery in a matter of minutes, without messing with stiars, in the fast waters of the hovering streams. There were eight of these rivers inside the school, running up to the eight towers of the building, and all conjoining in an ornate fountain underneath the center stairwell.

 Harry had found that he could cut right through the waterspouts if he got enough momentum ahead of time; it required nearly the top speed of his old Firebolt. He had done it enough times that it was easy. In fact, the only trick lay in avoiding the canoes that were distributed through the waters. He lowered his head and blasted through the geyser, emerging on the other side sopping wet but exhilarated. 

A minute later, he dismounted and set the broom against the stone wall. He had come to a stop in front of the entrance-portrait to the kitchens, an important looking young noble munching on some chocolate frogs with an air of distinction.

"Midnight snack," Harry pronounced, and the portrait (still with a show of arrogance) slid open to admit him to the kitchens. It was true that he did not have to use the password to enter; every password-protected room in the castle (of which there were many) was designed to admit him automatically. However, the passwords for the kitchen were always food-related, and generally served to entertain the young headmaster immensely. 

"Harry Potter! I'm so glad to see you!" a small voice piped. 

Harry looked down to see an old, familiar face. Dobby the house-elf was grinning widely, as usual. Harry was somewhat startled by Dobby's speech; the elf had long ago lost his servant patois, but it never did sound right to hear his old friend speaking grammatically-correct English.

"How are you, Dobby?" Harry asked.

"I'm doing very well, thank you," Dobby answered, enunciating each syllable perfectly and confidently.

"How are things going? Is everything in order?"

"Yes sir, as ever, we have gone to painstaking labors to insure that everything will be perfect," Dobby replied, his smile not wavering.

"Not too painstaking, I hope?"

Dobby's expression of complete joy dimmed a bit. In the sixteen years since Hermione had taken possession of the Hogwarts Elves, she had finally accomplished some changes in their working conditions. House-Elves were now referred to as "In-House-Assistants", and were now paid for their labors. Hermione, who had a small amount of influence with the Minister of Magic at the time (as well as the ear of the most powerful wizard in the nation), had managed to push through legislation improving Elf-Wizard relations.

Hermione was greatly pleased with the gains she had made, but she was one of just a few. The various wizarding families did not care for the new laws much, but in the wake of the war, no one cared to oppose them, either. The house-elves nearly staged a riot at first, and in the end, Hermione had to order them to accept the new terms. 

Fifteen years later, the elves were still less-than thrilled about their new freedoms. They took their days off as ordered, went home when asked to, and even accepted their wages, although no one was sure what exactly they did with it. Nonetheless, Harry could tell that this was contrary to their natures. Every time anyone mentioned something about not working too hard, or enjoying their time off, the Elves seemed unhappy.

_But maybe Herm is right: maybe they can change. _

 "No sir, not too hard," Dobby answered in a disgusted tone.

"Glad to hear it, Dobby. Tell me, what time to you work tomorrow?" Harry asked.

Dobby continued to glower. "Not until eleven. Just in time to make lunch."

"Oh, excellent. I'd sure hate to ask you to work during your time off, but perhaps you could come by my office at say, eight? I have a little project that you might just be able to help me with," Harry said slowly, a twinkle in his eyes.

Dobby brightened immediately at the prospect of extra work. "Yes sir, you know I will!"

"I would greatly appreciate it," Harry breathed. "But I'm afraid I must be getting along now. I'll see you at the Feast, Dobby!" He left the kitchens with a sense of general peace about the meal to come, if not the Sorting Ceremony. _Now, all I have to do is think of something for Dobby to do._

Harry picked up his broom and took off toward the Great Hall. He turned at the first hallway he came to and within seconds had arrived at the central stairwell. It was a huge room; larger even than the Great Hall at Hogwarts had been. The walls of the room, which branched off into various corridors, where lined with trophy cases (the majority of which were still empty), old suits of armor from the school's predecessor, and statues depicting great wizards. Bright multi-colored torches burned at intervals of fifteen feet on the walls; and more torches were affixed to each side of every column in the giant room.

            Four immense staircases, golden in hue and nearly forty feet wide, sprang up from the ground, arching into the heavens, far above the ground level. Underneath them lay a great pool of water, from which the eight streams of water started. A series of crosswalks enabled the students to access the stairs and traverse the room. 

            The waters were perfectly clear, due to a powerful cleansing spell that Harry cast each week. However, the pool was so deep that one could not see the bottom of the bright waters. He knew that the waters went down several hundred feet, and then the column shifted sharply to the right; a wide passageway connected the deep pool to the outside lake. During the first years of the school, the merpeople would occasionally drift up to see what was going on inside the school, but soon lost interest. However, the interior portion of the lake was not so boring to everyone in the underrealm: Harry had had to have a talk with the Giant Squid to keep him from visiting too often.

            Harry expertly piloted his broom close of the surface of the water, cutting diagonally across the pool. He made it to the other side and turned sharply down the nearest hall, and right through Professor Moody. A shiver tore through Harry's body; running through Moody was colder than any dip in the school canals.

            "Watch out there!" Moody cried in anguish. "I swear, there's more trouble in our headmaster than in our worst students!"

            Harry smiled proudly. "Too right there is."

            Moody shook his ghostly head and smiled. "One of these days, Potter, you're going to get yourself killed on that thing."

_He's much calmer now that he's dead_. Harry reflected on the curiosity that was Alastor Moody; in life, the former auror had spent every waking minute trying to avoid his own death. The evasion of death is always a fruitless exercise; sooner or later it is bound to fail. But to an extent, Moody was successful. When he finally died, shortly after the first year of Albus, he went peacefully in his sleep. He began his afterlife in a quandary; how to spend his energies now that death was no longer an issue?

Much like Professor Binns at Hogwarts long ago, Moody returned to work the next year, much to the amazement of the faculty. The students were also notably surprised when he floated through the door to the DADA classroom, instead of the more traditional "opening and stepping through" routine. He continued teaching the Defense class much as he had before, but with noticeably less mania. Harry was proud to say that Moody had become a dedicated and hard-working, if not lively, instructor. Not only that, but in only his second year, he had cured the Hogwarts DADA curse.

"Will I see you at the sorting, Moody?" Harry asked.

The pale face in front of him scrunched up in consideration. "I don't see how I could possibly work it in, Headmaster. I'm working on my lesson for tomorrow – I have a surprise that will knock the socks off the kids!"

Harry laughed. "Very well, then I will see you at the meeting later, right?"

"Is that tonight? I'd almost forgotten."

"Yes, it's tonight. Same place, same time," Harry remarked, astonished.

"Yeah, I'll see you there." With that, Moody drifted through the nearest wall, where he was less likely to encounter any more gallivanting headmasters.

Harry remounted his broom and took off for the Great Hall. Within minutes, he was seated at the center of the staff table. Within minutes, the students would be arriving, and the staff was silent with mutual anticipation. This was the fifteenth year of school at Albus, but Harry and the others still felt the same giddy excitement at the onset of each new year.

To his left sat Remus Lupin, the Professor for History of Magic, with his wife, Nurse Nymphadora Tonks. Beside them sat the Longbottoms: Herbology-Instructor Neville and Luna, the Charms Teacher. At the end of the table on his left side, Arthur Weasley sat in a heated conversation with the Potions Master. 

Arthur Weasley had signed on to teach Muggle Studies "at least until a better teacher might be found", as he said. Harry or Hermione had sat in on most of his lessons that first year, correcting a few glaring misconceptions in Arthur's understanding. Fourteen years later, Arthur Weasley was still the Interim Professor, and Harry was reasonably convinced that a better teacher could not be found.

The Potions Master was scowling in response to something Arthur had said. _Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer._ In the months after the end of the war, Harry was having a little trouble locating anyone to fill the Potions Master position. He knew of one person who had the skills, and decided that the best place for Lucius Malfoy was directly under his own nose. It had taken quite a bit of persuading, but ever since Christmas Eve of '97, Harry had always been able to get what he wanted from the former Deatheater, however reluctantly it might come.

Lucius as a professor presented a world of difficulties to Harry. First and foremost, there were still the taints of the old Malfoy spirit about him; he exhibited the same biases toward Purebloods and the members of his own house. Harry kept a close eye on him, and had so far prevented the aging wizard from getting into any serious trouble.

The true complication lay in the fact that during his third year of teaching, Malfoy had suffered a vampire bite, and his conversion had been swift and complete. Thereafter, Harry had to insure that Malfoy kept his teeth to himself, so to speak. All the potions classes had to be scheduled at night to accommodate the newly undead professor. 

To Harry's right was the rest of the faculty; Hermione and Viktor Krum (the teachers for Arithmancy and Transfiguration, respectively), Dennis and Colin Creevey. Next to Harry, in pride of place, was the seat for Ginny, the Instructor for Care of Magical Creatures. He smiled to himself; in the fifteen minutes she had left his side, he had already begun to miss her.

At times such as these, Harry let his mind wander over the past. _I wonder what Ron would have taught. _Ron had never demonstrated mastery over any of the subjects at Hogwarts, but Harry knew that most of his staff had simply risen to the occasion when Albus was formed. He could easily envision Ron demonstrating wand technique in Charms, or spooking his students in DADA. Granted, they had a host of witches and wizards with a lot of experience in DADA.

All further thoughts were driven from his mind as the newest crop of students arrived in the Great Hall, lead by Ginny. Every year, Harry was surprised anew at how small and timid they all seemed. He well remembered the day of his own Sorting, how nervous he had been. To see it from the outside, year in and year out, was another thing altogether. 

The frightened children marched solemnly up the aisle in the center of the Hall. The room was set up in precisely the same way as its predecessor at Hogwarts. The four House tables ran the length of the room, with the Staff table perpendicular to them all at the end. The first years proceeded to the center of the room, and then halted, unsure as to whether to proceed any further.

"Go on, Gin," Harry murmured. 

"Okay, first years," Ginny said, addressing the new students. The rest of the room was perfectly silent, giving her their full attentions. She waved her wand and conjured a three-legged stool in front of them, and pulled a tattered wizard's hat from her robes and placed it reverentially on top. Moments later, the dark folds of the Hat opened into a gaping hole, from which belted a magical tune:

I've been around for more than a millennium,

And I've seen more than a thing or two.

I'm neither pretty nor pretentious;

I'll happily share my knowledge with you.

I'm not as dressy as a fedora,

Nor as stylish as a baseball cap,

But I'm smarter than the rest:

To your mind I'll provide the map.

For hundreds of years I served Hogwarts

By putting students in their places

But then Darkness took the school down

But at Albus I still handle the new cases

So, take a walk on up here;

Just give me a try

And I will tell you

Where I think you should lie

Maybe I will send you to the House of Weasley

Where the brave of heart and noble of spirit

Have always been welcome at Albus.

Weasley is the place to find friends of merit.

Or else you might belong in Rubeus

Where the kindest souls reside,

Thinking only of others and never of themselves.

It all hangs on what you decide.

But if you fancy yourself clever

You should try House McGonagall.

There you will find your friends

Who are among the brightest of us all.

But if these fine Houses do not suit you

Then try the one that is most little

But no less noble than the others;

Enlist yourself in the House of Riddle.

I've been around for many a year

And I've seen things you would not guess.

But I'll continue to do my thing

And promise to do my best.

The students and faculty clapped heavily after the insipid rhymes. 

"He's just not putting much effort into that," Harry heard Hermione say quietly.

Harry nodded, not taking his attention from the spectacle in front of him. "The burden of creation is not an easy one."

"You'd think he'd come up with a little more than _that_," she persisted and he could not argue.

Years before, the evil under the name of Voldemort had torn the magical world asunder, and they were still recovering. The list of people who connected that fearful name to that of Tom Riddle was short indeed. Those that did know the true name of the Dark Lord had objected strongly to the inclusion of the Riddle House at Albus, but Harry had insisted. In part, he wanted to pay tribute to his greatest foe. More than that, he wanted to demonstrate his unflagging hope that every student held promise, even if they passed under the long shadow of Salazar Slytherin.

Ginny went on. "When your name is called, come forward and put the Sorting Hat on your head, and together you will decide in which House you belong."

Harry nodded knowingly. One of the changes they had instituted since the creation of Albus was to instruct the Sorting Hat to encourage more than place the Students. In accordance with his own experience and Hermione's, as well as Neville's, they had decided that it would be far better to let the student decide, if at all possible.

"Doris Ackerly," Ginny said in a clear, loud voice.

In response, a blond girl in pigtails emerged from the throng of first years and approached the stool, shaking from head to toe as she did. She placed the Sorting Hat on her head and after a few minutes, her tremulous voice squeaked; "McGonagall!"

Thunderous applause from the entire room followed her to the McGonagall table, and Ginny wasted no time in summoning Gregory Alban to the Hat. After a short deliberation he put himself in Riddle. Peter Amos became the first new Weasley, before Louis Black also went to McGonagall.

Jean Christians and Bella Cranton both went to Rubeus, and the hall exploded in applause with each new sorting. Everyone took notice when Katarina Dumbledore, Grand-niece of the Last Headmaster of Hogwarts, placed herself in McGonagall. After fifteen minutes, they had worked their way into the back of the alphabet. Agnes Parker became a Weasley, and Harry smiled in anticipation. The next student bore her grandmother's name, but was a near replica of her mother on the day of her own sorting.

With a look of excitement on her face, Ginny called the next name on the list: "Lily Potter." The first years parted and pushed forward a small redheaded child, with dazzling green eyes and s timid smile. Harry and Ginny's youngest stepped boldly up to the Sorting Hat. She put it on and sat down.

Harry's conception of time seemed to stall, and it seemed hours before he heard his only daughter squeak: "WEASLEY!" Harry's heart felt a surge of pride, which was only encouraged by the louder-than-usual applause that accompanied her decision. He watched as she joined the ranks of the Weasley House.

Ginny's voice was broken as she read the next name, and Harry could see silent tears streaming down her face.

"Ronald Potter."

From the same area of the first years came Lily's twin brother, a few minutes older and several inches taller. He carried the name of the uncle he'd never met, but was the very vision of his father. Pushing unruly black hair out of his face, he took the stool, and pulled the Hat over his head, until the brim rested on his unmarked forehead.

If there had been a long deliberation for Lily, it paled in comparison to the pause that awaited Ron's sorting. Across the room, the anxious wizards shifted uncomfortably in their seats, all echoing Harry's thought: _Shouldn't it be obvious?_

Harry soon decided that he was happier waiting when Ronald's voice confidently declared; "RIDDLE!".

There was a fair amount of applause in the room, most noticeably from the Riddle table, which was pleased to have the progeny of the greatest wizard of their time among their ranks. The rest of the students applauded in oblivion, but the rest of the staff turned toward Harry in unmistakable concern. Harry's own attention was on his wife, who could not contain her surprise. After an uncomfortable pause, she read the next name on the list in a dazed voice.

Shaking his doubts from his mind, Harry rose to give his opening address as soon as the last first year was sorted. "Let us all welcome our new students," he said loudly, and the room gave another boisterous round of applause.

Harry paused a moment, unsure how to continue. Every year, he wanted to tell all of his new students what a remarkable journey they were about to undertake. In the next seven years, they would encounter friendships, rivalries, new experiences, love, joy and laughter, and even a little bit of education, all lumped together in a way that could only be described as magical. With all these things in mind, Harry gave his address.

"I know that you are all eager to begin your meals, as I am myself. But I beg your patience when I give you the following words," he said. "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

Smiling he sat back down. _Let them figure out for themselves._

            *                      *                      *                      *

Midnight descended upon the quiet castle. The students were all in their respective Houses, likely lying down, if not asleep. Harry had faith that his assigned prefects would keep them in their rooms, so that he might venture from the Castle. As the hands on the giant clock in his office united as one at the twelve, Harry rose from his chair and went over to the open window. He grabbed his Firebolt and took off through the window, dropping immediately into the shadows of the Castle.

He whistled along the ground at great speed; he had managed to take the trip down to less than three minutes. Cold, wet air cut into his face, but he did not mind. After all those years, he still enjoyed flying like nothing else. A picture of Ginny floated into his mind, and a grin formed on his face as he reminded himself; _Well, few things._

Harry zipped over to the Forbidden Forest and he cut across the tree tops, feeling leaves brush against the tips of his shoes. Spotting the now-familiar grove of trees in question, Harry descended into the heart of the forest, where the wartime home of the Order of the Phoenix still remained.

In front of the building were three-dozen robed figures gathered around an enormous fire, which was crackling merrily. Harry set his broom down outside the circle and then joined their ranks, taking up a spot between Ginny and Hermione. On his left side, removed by a few body spaces, he could see the shimmering form of Professor Moody. He squeezed Ginny's hand in affectionate greeting.

"Good evening, Harry Potter," said a thick voice. 

Harry looked over to see the only son of Cornelius Fudge, who had succeeded his Father as Minister. He was flanked, as usual, by a pair of burly Aurors. The relationship between the Order and the Ministry had never been rosy; but they joined forces in their vigilance against the Dark Forces. "And to you, Buck Fudge," Harry breathed. "Is everyone here?"  
            "I believe so," Fudge said, nodding. "We are ready to begin. Has everyone prepared their reports?"

Jimson stepped forward into the firelight. "I suppose I will begin. The dragon family is doing well, having returned to Neddleton Island after many long years. We have managed to keep Gloria's family apart from the main pack, and so far they are demonstrating the same domestication as their mother."  
            "That is good news," Fudge affirmed. "I hope they will be ready should we ever need to call upon them."

"I have faith that they will, Minister," Jimson answered, and shrank back into the shadows. 

"Mr. Krum?" Fudge said, and in response, Viktor stepped forward, emerging from Hermione's far side.

"The news from Bulgaria is not nearly as promising," Viktor responded. "My latest communications with Igor say that they have had some luck with their raids, but overall the Bulgarian Ministry still remains powerful. From his reports, I am not confident that they will be able to overthrow the existing government."  
            Fudge nodded. "I wish them luck."

Harry felt his anger rising. He had often proposed outright war with the Bulgarian Ministry. Immediately following the downfall of Voldemort, he had led the Order on several cursory attacks, but had not had manpower enough to lead a proper revolt. The Bulgarian Ministry had been on the side of the Deatheaters during the war seventeen years ago, and the same characters were still in charge. 

During the years after the events of those times, known now as the English Magical Civil War, the Bulgarian Ministry had attacked several, smaller Magical Nations around them, creating a growing Empire that threatened their own nation.

"Fudge-" Harry spoke up.

"Forget it, Potter," Fudge snapped. "Your persistent war-mongery is unwelcome. We do not have the manpower nor the resources to do as you suggest."

"Maybe not, but I think we're more powerful than you care to admit," Harry said, his voice hot. "In fact, I think you're afraid of upsetting the voting members of the Ministry, who don't seem to understand the threat posed by the Bulgarians. Even if we do not have the resources ourselves, I know that Minister Delacour of France would come to our aid. I have reason to believe that the governments of America and Germany our sympathetic to our cause."  
            Fudge sputtered in outrage. "You are proposing a magical world-war! Do you understand the implications of what you are suggesting? You could bring the ruination of our nation!"

"Oh yes, I understand." Harry growled. "I am beginning to wonder how much it is you understand. Do you believe that our supposedly covert operations in Bulgaria will continue to go unanswered? What's better, to start war on our own terms, or to invite an attack we aren't prepared for?"

Fudge's face was a mask of fury in the firelight. "Be that as it may, that is a decision for the Ministry, not for the Headmaster of our school and his band of thugs."

Many voices grumbled their discontent at this comment, so Fudge changed the topic of conversation quickly. "How goes the pursuit of the Outlaw Magical Creatures?"

To his right, an Auror stepped forward. "The Dementors and the Giants have been hunted into near-extinction, Minister. We believe that there is a small pocket of them in the Eastern Territories, but otherwise they have been exterminated."

Harry snorted in fury. "The Eastern Territories" was the term that the Ministry had concocted for the Bulgarian Empire.

The meeting wore on, as many field reports were given. Harry fought his urge to again denounce Minister Fudge, but decided to let it rest. At last, Fudge and his Aurors departed, leaving the Order huddled in the flickering firelight.

"What are we going to do, Harry?" Arthur Weasley spoke up. 

Harry sighed. "I'm not sure yet. It may yet come to war, but that day has not yet arrived on us. In the meantime, we will do as we always do: keep our eyes open. We shall never again let the shadow of Darkness descend upon our land. We will guard our homes and our families with care and with strength. In short, we will follow the advice of a wise friend of mine."

He cast a sly glance at Moody, and then led them all in their chorus: "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Harry kissed his wife softly on the top of her head, and led the Order out of the Forbidden Forest.

                        *                      *                      *                      *

Author's Note: Many thanks to everyone who has stuck with me through this fanfiction. I greatly appreciate that you have taken the time to read my humble work, and I thank you many times over for your words of encouragement. I hope you enjoyed it. 


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